


The Hole Where Her Heart Used To Be

by mymindismyweapon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-03-18 12:12:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 30
Words: 65,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3569219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mymindismyweapon/pseuds/mymindismyweapon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya returns to Westeros but struggles with her identity and the people who love her. The hole where her heart used to be yearns for their love, but she doesn't want to experience the same hurt from her lost family. In order to find herself again, she has to accept the risk that comes with love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am apologizing in advance for the overuse of "her" and "she" throughout Arya's POV chapters. It's just to emphasize the uncertainty of her identity. (There's a method to my exaggerated pronoun usage!)

Mist rolled through the trees, coming off the Red Fork River. It gave them enough cover to near the small camp.

“There are only four.” He whispered in Arya’s ear. She nodded in agreement as her eyes darted to each man. She still amazed him the way she was able to find a man’s weak spot from yards away. The training she went through at Braavos must have helped her develop that skill.

 Arya was stonehearted now. He was afraid there was nothing left inside her. No feeling, no love. Losing your whole family will do that, he supposed. She did have her Uncle Brynden, but she said she had no attachment since she had never met him until they came to the Riverlands.

They had been living in the Riverlands being rangers for her uncle for many weeks now. Before that, he and Arya had run into each other at Acorn Hall. It was a rough reunion considering she still hadn’t forgiven him for joining the Brotherhood without Banners. He didn’t tell her he had teamed up with the search party her mother sent for her and her sister. He didn’t know why he never told her. Possibly because he didn’t want her to think she needed saving. Arya hated when people would treat her like a helpless lady. She definitely never acted like one.

When they finally recognized each other, there was a lot of punching and name calling involved but she eventually gave in and showed her relief. It was only brief because she didn’t want to be weak; not only for a moment. She was good at that. Never showing her feelings. Her true feelings. She could act like she was happy when she was around her uncle or share a few laughs with the men at Riverrun but he knew the only feeling she had now was anger. It was typical for Arya to let her anger flash but that’s all there was. He used to be able to make her smile, back when she was only a girl. But now when she smiled, it was spiteful and cruel.

He looked at her, and the smile was there. She spotted the sigil on their coats, two towers; the Freys. She crept forward and seemed to completely forget he was there. He knew why.

She stalked forward until she was right behind the first man. He readied himself to jump into action once she struck. The men suddenly turned and ran towards them before he even knew what was happening. He didn’t see her move, yet the man was on the ground, dead. This occurrence was normal when they went scouting. Her hands were so deadly quick her victims never saw it coming.

He ran forward and smashed into the first man with his body. That was one thing he had on Arya. Her body was useless without her hands or sword. He stabbed the second man through the chest, right between the two blue towers. He saw Arya circling the last man, low in her water dance form. She dodged his swing and brought her sword up between his ribs. He could see the tip of her sword peeking through his left shoulder, right above his heart.

“Aren’t you going to kill him?” she asked, annoyed. He turned and saw the man he bowled over. He was unconscious and possibly fashioning a few broken bones.

“We’ll take him back to be questioned. There shouldn’t be any Freys this close to the fork.” He answered, aware of her hateful glare burning into the man. “C’mon, you can kill him later.” He bent to pick up the limp figure, when he heard a rustle in the bushes.

“Gendry!”  Arya yelled and sprinted forward. He looked up to see a small, robed man hobbling towards him. He dropped the soldier and reached for his sword. He saw a flash and the man was lying on the ground.

“Arya, I could’ve taken care of it myself.” He sighed. She stood above the man and turned her head.

“How did we miss him?” She sounded wary and confused. Was there disappointment behind her voice?

“It’s fine. He was just hiding and we didn’t see him.” He continued to pick up the Frey as she turned to face him. He looked at her and her face was screwed up in concentration.

“He could have killed you.” She whispered. He saw red on her shirt, just below her breast and thought it was blood from an earlier foe. But it began to spread across her shirt.

“Arya! You’re bleeding!” He dropped the man once more and walked toward her.

She looked down and grumbled, “It’s only a cut.” She touched the spot and looked at her fingers. She lifted her eyes to his and winced. He saw her knees buckle and then she was lying in the dirt in front of her.

“Arya!” He dashed forward and knelt beside her. He grabbed her shoulder and turned her onto her back. She was trembling and staring with wide eyes at him. They were filled with panic and fear. The cut was very small, like she said and wouldn’t cause a reaction like this. “Arya, what’s wrong?”

“Something isn’t right. The cut-.“ Her words were shortened as she gasped and sunk her fingers into the dirt beside her. Her breath came fast and short. Her back arched as she struggled to breath.

He didn’t know what to do. He looked around trying to think of something. Then his eyes met the unseeing eyes of the dead man she had slain moments ago. There was a glimmer of emerald that caught his attention as he looked back at Arya. It was a dagger, a few inches from the old man’s fingers. A smear of ruby shone brightly against the silver of the blade. He grabbed it and carefully shoved it into his belt.

“Help-.” She choked. He scooped her up into his arms and ran for the horses. She was grabbing at his collar, struggling to keep her head from draping over his arm.

“No, Arya. Stay with me.” He demanded, holding her closer. _She can’t die. Not like this._

“Gendry-.”

He looked down at her, not slowing as he made his way to their horses. Her face was twisted in pain and he could barely stand to look at her. Tears were stinging in his eyes.

“I-I-,” she was gasping for air again. He shook his head, willing her to stop talking and save her breath.

“No, I’m going to save you.” But as soon as those words left his mouth, so did her’s. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she went limp. He slowed, shaking his head. _No, you can’t be dead._ _You’re Arya. You aren’t supposed to die like this._ As he dropped to his knees, he looked at her pale, dirty face. Her hair blew over it like the wind was telling him she was gone. He caught the strands in between his fingers and pulled it back behind her ear, refusing to believe it.

She was his best friend, the only friend he ever had. He never even made friends in Fleabottom. His mother always had him working, and when she died, Tobho kept him busy morning to night. He had no one now. The despair from that thought tightened his chest. He pulled her closer, her cold hands brushing his neck. He shivered and felt the hole in his heart grow ever deeper. The reality of what just happened was sinking in and he felt his throat close.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, my chapters are not very consistent. So, expect some chapters to be longer or shorter than others... I'm not very good at measuring the amount of content I want in each chapter. Sorry! Enjoy!

“Arya.” He whispered as the tears fell. He buried his face in the crook of her neck. _You were all I had. I found you and then I lost you. It’s all my fault._

He felt something light on his cheek. Just a slight brush. He lifted his head and glanced at her dark eyelashes, knowing the exact color of her eyes without her opening them. Under the dirt on her skin, he could see freckles. Just little speckles across her sharp, angular nose. And then her lips-. Did he just feel a whisper of breath leave her mouth? He gasped and leaned closer, his nose almost touching hers. And there it was again. A sweet sigh left her lips and glided over his mouth. Something in his stomach clenched. He was so close to her, closer than he had ever been. He stared at her slightly parted lips and felt another warm breath waft across his face.

“Arya?” He looked at her mouth and placed his palm on her face. “Can you hear me?” He searched for any sign of her reacting. It was like she was asleep. A wave of relief went over him as he realized that she wasn’t dead. But for how long? He cradled her in his arms again as he ran the rest of the way to their horses. He sat her up on top of his and tied hers to his saddle. He climbed up behind her and wrapped his arm around her middle. They took off galloping towards the Tully castle. Her head whipped around violently so he held her tighter against his chest hoping it would help. She seemed so small, crushed against him. He could feel the curve of her hips hug his arm and hand. He swallowed hard trying to ignore the femininity he never knew she had.

He rode up to the gate and they lowered it allowing them to gallop into the square. They must have seen him coming because Brynden Tully was there to take hold of his reins as he slid off with Arya. “Get the maester.” He demanded shakily. He didn’t realize he was panicking until he heard his voice.

“What happened? Is she okay? Who did this?” Lord Tully commanded as his eyes searched over her body. He jogged next to Gendry as they climbed the tower to Maester Vyman’s chambers. There were other men watching them but not pursuing. They looked on with worried eyes but they knew their presence wouldn’t make a difference. Arya’s body remained limp in his arms as he hurried up the stairs.

“I will explain what happened when the maester is there as well.” He replied, hoping he would cease the questioning. He didn’t want the Blackfish to kill him before he could get Arya to the maester.

They burst through the doorway and the old man was standing over his desk mixing mysterious liquids. He looked up and quickly pointed at the cot up against the wall. Gendry didn’t think he knew it was the Lord of Riverrun’s niece he was carrying until the Blackfish barked, “Get over here old man! It’s Arya!” The man jumped and scurried to the cot.

His arms felt empty and his heart helpless as he laid her gently on the mattress. Her tiny body looked so fragile and her face void of life. The maester touched her forehead and whispered something and then louder, “What happened?”

Gendry quickly explained that they found Freys and killed them. After the retelling of the old man who induced the poison on Arya, he revealed the knife. Maester Vyman took it carefully and brought the blade up to his eyes.

“Is she alive? What’s happening?” Lord Tully asked forcefully. He took Arya’s hand and knelt beside her.

“She’s alive but only just.” Vyman replied.

“Her breathing is barely there. I thought she had died-,“ He stopped before his feelings rose to the surface again. The feeling he had before when he believed she was dead was unbearable. He couldn’t let himself feel that way again.

“Her blood is moving slowly enough, it’s like she’s dead but her heart is still working. However, everything in her body has stopped and will remain so until we have an antidote.” He stared at the blade again. “There are only two poisons that would cause her body to shut down. I’m hoping it’s one and not the other.” He whispered the last part to himself. It made Gendry uneasy to hear the fear in his voice. He silently hoped the same thing.

“Where are we going to get the antidote? Do you have it?” The Blackfish rubbed Arya’s hand anxiously. Gendry knew he felt as helpless as he did. He had lost almost his whole family to the Freys. Gendry had heard that Brynden’s inheritance to Riverrun was unwanted and he preferred a life of serving rather than ruling. He was a quiet, but kind man. Due to his near lifetime service as a knight, many of his people looked up to him and believed he would make a great leader. He proved his loyalty and duty to his house by driving the Freys away from the Red Fork. The people celebrated and crowned the Blackfish, Lord of Riverrun. Many spoke of his fondness for his niece, Catelyn, Arya’s mother. He would speak of her regularly, like she was still alive. Gendry knew it upset Arya but she never said a word. He believed Brynden was trying to comfort her, when really all Arya wanted was to forget.

“I need to examine the poison and determine whether it is the product of a flower or manticore venom. She will hold up fine until then. There isn’t anything we can do.” He shuffled away towards the desk he was experimenting at when they first came in. Gendry saw the blade disappear into a clouded jar and the maester turned back towards them. “Let’s get her comfortable. She will be staying there awhile.”

The Blackfish cleared his throat and stood, setting Arya’s hand down softly, “I’ll get a serving girl to change her.” His expression didn’t give anything away. He wasn’t a man of many words so his withdrawal from the room didn’t take Gendry by surprise. The maester was hunched over his desk and it was just Arya and Gendry left. It was like everyone else forgot his presence. It was normal for everyone to ignore him, especially when Arya was in the same room. He wasn’t anyone special to pay attention to anyway.

Gendry walked to Arya’s bed and knelt. Her eyes remained closed and her mouth slightly parted. He wanted her to just wake up. It didn’t matter if she woke up angry and punched him. He would let her punch him a thousand times if she would open her eyes. Her hand laid limp beside her. His fingers brushed her knuckles and slipped in between hers to her palm. The skin he touched was cold and pale against his forge-burned hide. He moved closer, feeling the need to warm her but instead took the wool blanket from the end of the bed and pulled it over her body. He’s never had to protect her from anything other than herself. It was strange to see her weak for the first time, after all the years he’s known her. He wondered if anyone had seen her unable to protect herself, since she left King’s Landing. Her temper and sword skills have kept her safe. He ran his finger across her palm and could swear there was an indent where the hilt of her sword fit. He spread her hand out across his and rubbed the dirt and dry blood from her knuckles. Her hand was so small and delicate he thought, as he brushed his thumb over her skin.

He laughed to himself. Delicate was the last word he would ever use to describe Arya, yet here she was, lying on a cot in a maester’s chambers, reflecting the very definition of delicate. He smiled thinking of the reaction she would definitely have if she knew what he was thinking. Then the smile faded and he thought of how he may never hear her angry voice or see her eyes light up with the passion of her fury.

“I’m sorry, Arya. This is my fault and I’m going to make it right.” He promised. He heard the door open and he instantly dropped her hand and stood. It was an older woman with clothes draped over her arm. She glared at him accusingly and rushed passed him to Arya. This was the woman Arya told him about. She always tried making her wear dresses and bathing twice a day. Her Uncle Brynden allowed her to wear what she wished to Arya’s relief.

The woman shuffled around Arya removing her tunic and breeches until she was down to her smallclothes. She began to lift her undershirt over her head when Gendry spotted the cut across her ribs. He quickly turned away when the base of her breast appeared as the cotton lifted from her body.

The serving woman must have noticed his sudden movement and barked, “What are you doing, lurking in that corner boy? Get out!”

“Yes, ma’am.” He said, sprinting from the room. _Gods, Arya was right about her_. He stood out in the hallway and spotted the Blackfish walking toward him. He was an older man, well into his 60’s. He walked slowly but purposefully, stopping in front of Gendry.

“Thank you for taking care of Arya. You know her better than me and I’m her own uncle.” He stopped and frowned, “You do well in the forge. I’ve never seen you use a sword but Arya says you’re decent,” he paused, grinning, “Well, in her own way.” The Blackfish chuckled and put his hand on his shoulder, “I know she has been through a lot, we all have, but I think she cherishes you more than anyone. I want you to know that you are welcome here. You have been there with her when no one else could. I appreciate that and-,“ He was interrupted as the door opened and the serving woman stepped out.

“I told you that she was going to get herself hurt someday. You should have let me make her a proper lady. She shouldn’t be out with men, doing men’s work.” She glared at Gendry.

“I know, but I can’t restrain her when she is so good with a sword. It’s her passion and I won’t deny her.” Lord Tully replied gruffly. Gendry admired his insight and bravery to stand up to this woman. She was almost as vicious as Arya.

She huffed and stormed off leaving them at the open door. Gendry was still taken aback by Lord Tully’s statements from before. He knew the Lord of Riverrun was thankful to him for bringing her there, but he didn’t realize how grateful. He thought the Blackfish had no interest in him and would throw him out the first chance he got. It was a relief to know he could live a life here if Arya wasn’t in the picture.

“Ser, thank you for what you said before. Arya is the closest person I have in my life. But I-I-I’m sorry-,” The Blackfish raised his hand to stop him.

“Don’t be sorry for how foolish Arya can be. I have no doubt it wasn’t your fault and her bravery – or stubbornness – whichever you prefer, got her poisoned.” He sighed and smiled weakly. Gendry still blamed himself whether that belief was turned down or not.

Brynden waved him into the room and followed after him. Gendry waited for him to go to Arya but he went and spoke to Maester Vyman. He cautiously walked to Arya and stopped a few feet away. She was under the blanket except for her arms. They lay on top of the blanket on either side of her. They were bare because the gown the woman put her in was sleeveless. Her hair was strewn across the pillow in a wavy mess. She reminded him of the song Tom Sevenstrings sang at Acorn Hall.

_My featherbed is deep and soft, and there I'll lay you down_

_I'll dress you all in yellow silk, and on your head a crown._

_For you shall be my lady love, and I shall be your lord._

_I'll always keep you warm and safe, and guard you with my sword._

He blushed to think of the words. Arya would think he was such an idiot. He knew she hated love songs and thought they were stupid. He enjoyed them but knew they were just stories. For some reason he felt his heart drop slightly.

He walked closer to the bed and thought she looked paler than before. He reached for her hand but drew back quickly when Maester Vyman and Brynden approached. He stepped back so as not to be noticed.

“Luckily it was the flower, a form of Aconitum. It is also known as Wolf’s Bane.” He paused and glanced at Arya, “I don’t have the antidote.” Gendry felt his heart drop to his feet.

“You don’t have it? How will we save her?” The Blackfish asked loudly. It was obvious he was trying to remain calm but his mask was crumbling.

“I don’t know that we can, ser. I-,”

Lord Tully slammed his hand against the wall. “There _has_ to be a way. We can’t let her die.” He held on to the wall and stared at the floor.

“The only way to save her is to find the foil plant. The only place there is a patch of this flower is by High Heart.”

Gendry’s mind lurched in recognition. “I know where that is. I’ve been there.”

“Why did you say we couldn’t save her when we obviously can?” Brynden said angrily. “It’s only three days ride from here.” Gendry’s heart swelled with hope.

“I said we can’t because she doesn’t have that much time. She will last five days at the most. Her whole body is shut down, meaning we can’t get her to consume food or water. Her internal poisons will kill her before she can even starve or die from dehydration.” The maester stared pitifully at Arya. Gendry was suddenly furious with him. He could have told them sooner and they could have left. They could have saved her. He felt like Arya, ready to punch whoever made his rage rise.

Gendry took a deep, determined breath, “We have to try. I’ll go.” Both of the men looked at him in surprise. It was Brynden who spoke first.

“You’re right. But I will send a unit of soldiers to retrieve this flower.”

Gendry felt his hands close into fists. He took a deep breath, “Ser, please let me go. I can travel faster by myself and I won’t attract as much attention.” He stared into Brynden Tully’s deep blue eyes, “I won’t let you down.” He looked at Arya and whispered, “I won’t let _her_ down.”

He hoped his plead worked because he had nothing left to convince him with. He continued to look at Arya’s vacant face, unable to meet the Lord of Riverrun’s gaze.

“Get on with it then.” The Blackfish replied.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took so long to get this up! I had MAJOR writer's block (and adulting) to take care of. I hope you like it. I will hopefully be adding chapters more regularly. :)

As the mare’s hooves beat into the damp ground, Gendry was trying to formulate an image of the flower he needed to retrieve.

_“The flower itself is purple with a tall yellow stamen. You will find it where you find water, most likely a stream of some sort.” The old maester searched solemnly but swiftly. Or as swift as an old man with decrepit, barely functional fingers could search, taking books off the shelf and dropping them to the floor as he swore in defeat._

_Gendry watched him in a strange state of impatience and timid quiet. Finally, Maester Vyman turned, fully facing Gendry as he finished the description, “You are not picking the flower, though. I need the berries that will be with the plant. Take care not to crush them as I need to extract a specific chemical. It is very tedious because of its poisonous properties.”_

_“Poisonous?” Gendry replied in disbelief. Had the old man gone senile?_

_Maester Vyman glared, “If you want to save her, follow my directions. I can’t find a text containing a drawing but I trust you will remember the traits I provided. You are looking for the berries of Deadly Nightshade.” Gendry’s expression must have given away his shock, because the elder reached up and patted his shoulder, ending their conversation, “Quickly now, on your toes.”_

Gendry was still trying to accept that he was fetching one of the most commonly used poisons in Westeros to not kill someone, but save someone. And that someone being Arya Stark. He shook his head, urging the wind to blow his hair in every direction.

Leaves tore from branches as the chestnut mare shot passed; there was no wonder she was the fastest horse in Riverrun. Lord Tully prepared her for Gendry to take on his journey, boosting his confidence of success. The maester still expressed his doubt in him returning with the antidote in time to save Arya, but the Blackfish shared Gendry’s determination. He supposed it was typical of a maester to expect failure in a situation as desperate as this and when there was no readily available cure.

They traveled many leagues before Gendry allowed the animal to slow, still encouraging a quick pace. When he began the trip it was late morning, giving him the afternoon to gain a lot of ground. As he rode, he thought through his plan. He knew the general layout of High Heart, remembering when he last visited with the Brotherhood Without Banners. It was a tall hill overlooking the Riverlands with a circle of weirwood stumps. _There are thirty-one._ He and Arya had walked around the perimeter of the mysterious formation, counting the remaining wood of the once massive trees. He wanted to believe that was a much simpler time to the present, as it should have been for their young age, but their situation then, was as displacing as it was now.

He wrung his mind for evidence of a stream or water source that might lead him to the berries, but he didn’t recall. The party he was with only utilized the tall hill and didn’t explore much more beyond that. Even Arya remained in the area, but that may have been due to the strict hostage watch she was under. At that time, if they hadn’t been captured by the Brotherhood, Arya would have dragged him all over the North searching for Winterfell. Where would they be now if they found it? Would Arya have stopped all of the terrible things from happening to her family? Or would she have been killed?

A rain drop splashed on to his cheek signaling his journey’s path had entered a storm. His thoughts were interrupted as the rain became more steady, soaking his stead and wool cloak. He was impressed with the horse’s stamina as they pressed onward into the wet evening. They seldom stopped throughout the venture into the soaked Riverlands. And they even more rarely crossed paths with another living creature. Gendry worried in the beginning whether other travelers would slow their pace but encounters were so far, unlikely. However, the Brotherhood crossed his mind and their proximity to High Heart. That was an event he would have to anticipate.

The first night, Gendry and his traveling companion rested under the cover of a great oak tree. He relieved the exhausted horse of the saddle and light baggage, using it as a damp pillow propped against the trunk. The animal ate ravenously at the grain he offered, making him envious. It was hard to see with the darkness of late night and the moon being smothered by the heavy layers of clouds. After fumbling through the side bags in search of sustenance, he tore at the dense bread and what he assumed was cheese. The taste of the food was lost as he began thinking about Arya again.

The memory of her writhing in his arms as she gasped for air, begging for relief, had him sighing with guilt and worry. He put what was left of the bread and cheese away, his appetite now gone. As he settled into the hard ground and breathed in the musty smell of wet leather, he whispered a silent prayer to the new and old gods, and also to Arya. Though, Gendry knew it would take more than prayers to wake her.

When he woke the next morning, the sky was almost as he had left it when he fell asleep. It was impossible to tell what time of day it was; the birds were even oppressed by the weather, their morning songs stolen. He began his trek along the Red Fork with the mare pressing on diligently beneath him and a heavy sprinkle continued its punishment on them.

As High Heart became nearer, a deep, aching headache spread, starting at the nape of his neck and branching through to poke at the back of his eyes. The force of each hoof finding contact with the ground, seemed to cause the pain to dig its way further into his skull. Gendry rubbed the back of his neck assuming his sleeping position caused it to be the source but soon, breathing with his nose wasn’t an option. _Damn, one day in and I’m catching a cold._

Ignoring his worsening chill, he planned for when he would arrive. They would reach High Heart well into the night and he would have to wait to begin his search by first light. _Yes, begin my search for the poisoned remedy._ He struggled to push the ironic thought away.

The day stretched on, his steed continued relentlessly, and the ache advanced on his body. He was realizing the thickness of the trees were dissipating and his trail was becoming more open; More exposure to strangers. Gendry pulled his damp cloak closer and tugged his hood, draping near his eyes. The path to their destination shortened as darkness pressed in.

Not only did he know it was time to rest by the horse’s constant stumbling and faltering at the occasional twig, but the unpleasant throbbing of his head, throat, chest, and every other limb encouraged a past due respite. Almost as soon as the poor animal slowed to a stop, he lithely leapt from the stirrups, despite his body’s protest, and assisted in her shaky descend to the ground. The grass rustled around her hooves that moved to a more comfortable position. He patted her strained neck and whispered gruffly, “That’ll do girl. We’ll rest for a while.” As if the mare understood his words, she sighed long and heavy, signaling the beginning of her recovery.

He debated leaving the saddle and bags, and following his companion’s lead to lie on the sympathetic ground. But, he knew her labored breathing would be easier once the weight of his traveling equipment was relieved. After all, she did the majority of the work to get here.

Once he gave his partner another grateful pat, he set to removing her baggage. It was too dark to see the sores on her back but he was sure of their presence after such a ride. He prayed for the gods to have mercy on such an obedient creature and not make her a sacrifice to the saving of Arya. The sound of each piece of gear thumping to the ground put his nerves on end. For some reason, this particular area made him uneasy. Previous stopping points didn’t have this effect.

After rolling the wool spun belt that held the saddle on the horse’s back around his hand, he stopped to look up. There was a feeling of someone watching and he didn’t like it. It didn’t matter how hard he strained his eyes, they couldn’t penetrate the night. There was a crunching sound from behind a cluster of bushes. Without panicking and causing a whole raucous, he moved as slowly as his stiff limbs allowed, crouching to set the saddle belt on the ground and unsheathe his dagger. The metal rubbed against its holder, being the only noise since the unexplained movement.

There was another rustle as he readied to leap from the ground at the lurker, but as the threat emerged, shock held back his hand. An eerie glow emanated from her white hair and her movements should have been more laborious for her tiny, old body, but the most unsettling was her voice.

She spoke sadly with a slight tinge of accusation, “Why have you run this poor animal to the point of oozing sores and bloody hooves? She never asked for this fate. She never asked for your abuse.” The clarity in her words sounded as if she was speaking of herself and not the mare she rested a shriveled hand on. Gendry couldn’t find a response for her blunt comments so he stood quietly, deciding this ancient woman wasn’t a threat. He did not put away the dagger, however.

“No… no… I know you,” She whispered hoarsely, almost to herself, “it is your duty to risk lives for another.” The pale strands hid her face from him. “But you don’t think, no…” Darkness should have dimmed her eyes but they pierced it like an arrow through cotton, their redness shrouding him in an unearthly chill. “You are risking more lives than an animal’s.”

She turned from the horse and hobbled toward him. He was still captured by her eyes, like a fish being reeled in to his unfortunate demise. Her little steps ceased about a foot from him, and he needed to crane his neck to look down at her short stature.

“You are big, but not strong.” She said simply, a skin-raising cackle following her insult.

He found his voice at last, “You don’t know me. And you can barely see me in this darkness.”

She laughed again, but with more sarcasm, “Heh! Darkness brings forth secrets that cannot be seen in the light! And I am an old woman, I can see in the light about as well as I can in the dark!”

The change in tone relieved his tense muscles and impatience crept through his veins. “Why are you here? If you’re just going to insult me and make me feel bad about my horse, then you can leave.”

His eyes must have been adjusting to the dark because he watched her moving her lips upward as if she was pouting. “Why must everyone be so unkind to such a fragile old woman? The men you came with before treated me the same, yet they asked for words that would aid in their quest. But I didn’t satisfy them with words they wanted to hear, no. That would be too generous for thieves and murderers.” She sighed dramatically, leaning harder on the twisted cane he hadn’t noticed, “Too kind, I am. All they gave me in return was a song, though it was lovely…” Her sharp red globes disappeared as she closed her eyes and began to hum a tune. The melody was somewhat familiar but it was not very well represented in her off-key approach.

Though, her song wasn’t what caught his attention. He asked, “Do you mean the Brotherhood Without Banners?”

He could sense the irritation in her response as if she was angry with him for interrupting her music, “Brotherhood Without Banners? They were a bunch of lost pups with no common goal. Their loyalty lay with no one, not even themselves.” As the woman continued to grumble to herself, she spoke up with a final thought, “Men without any straight ambition are more hopeless than this horse.”

The constant fussing the elderly woman spouted made Gendry want to be rid of her more and more. But when she spoke again, her voice finally reflected her age and he almost wanted to pat her trembling hands, “But that girl you were escorting… her goals were clear and cruel,” her body hunched further into herself, “and she was willing to forget it all… all that she loved about herself…” a dry sob broke her words apart, “it is all forgotten now…” A breeze plucked at the ends of her knee-length hair and ruby orbs found his eyes again, but now they were pleading, “Only what is forgotten can save her,” her little cane was all that kept her from tumbling as she stumbled forward to him, “Her body holds the secrets of many… but that is not what needs remembering, no... Kindness, sympathy… all of her memories are held in that bloody, mangled _thing_ ,” the sadness on the ancient matron’s tongue turned sour and spiteful, “It was ripped to pieces by beasts with teeth and talons and spike! But it is not only her, no, but all who pray and worship and sin…”

Gendry stood inches from the seething wretch, her anger soaking through his skin to scratch at his bones. Her words confused him but he was sure it was Arya she was cursing about. He wondered what her reaction would be if he told her _his_ objective. She wasn’t much of a threat. The only thing that scared him were her eyes…

“Arya Stark. I am here to find an antidote to save her life.” Once again, their eyes met. Though, she had no expression and that is what deepened his fear.

“This name is only one of many. Many lives she has lived and died. This is just another she will die as…” She turned her swaddled back and muttered, “There is no antidote for remembering.” And limped away, dry leaves crunching in her path. Once she made her way around a nearby tree, the leaves’ ceased their signal as if she took flight once she was out of sight.

A chilly gust of wind took his cloak and whipped it away to gain access to his unprotected body. He turned abruptly and coughed into his shoulder. It was wet and slightly rattled. _That is enough excitement for tonight._ A few shivers and bites of bread later, he was lying adjacent to his equestrian comrade, cursing the incessant trickle of rain that soaked the ground around him. His meeting with the strange senior kept his mind awake. Gendry thought of Arya and how any of what was said about her applied. Why did she keep saying how Arya had “forgotten”? And what in seven hells did she mean by living many lives? Was the lady a seer? Had she seen Arya’s past lives, if that was a plausible concept? He almost wished for her to hobble back so he could wring some answers out of her and he could sleep. Despite his running mind, the illness plaguing his body pushed him to unconsciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

Gendry would have thought his meeting with the crooked old woman would have haunted his dreams, but his body was so busy sleeping, it was like it forgot to dream. But, he didn’t wake peacefully as one should without dreams, he woke with a cold _drip, drip, drip,_ in the middle of his forehead, its rain water freezing an icy path through his hair all along his scalp. His cloak had been wrapped around him when he fell asleep the night before, though when he woke, it was lying heavily, soaked into the ground.

He grunted with the effort of sitting up. Everything seemed to groan in reply, all of his muscles were either bunched and tight from the firmness of the ground, or sore and strained from the sickness infecting them. As he stood shivering and sniffling, he noticed the mare was up grazing on some clovers near the tree the ancient nymph disappeared behind.

“Good to know one of us is feeling better,” he whispered, but was then suddenly taken aback by his rough voice. His throat felt swollen and dry, and after water, felt as if it had absorbed the water and became more inflamed. _Seriously, the gods couldn’t have given me better fortune? They must really hate me. Or Arya._

The thought of Arya jump started his brain and ignited the guilt once again. Gendry kicked himself for wasting time sleeping when he should have been searching for the flower. He quickly took the horse’s reins and wrapped them around a nearby branch. According to his calculations, he should be in the general vicinity of High Heart. His feet began at a quick pace pointed in the direction of the tall hill he was beginning to spot through the scattered trees. Light was scarce with clouds still depressing the environment around him. Despite that fact, he could still find the beauty in the eerie area, tall grass shined almost gold in the wide expanse of the Riverlands. This was a different type of land compared to the rocky, wet prairie he had been inhabiting at Riverrun. The living things must have disliked the rain as the plants and flowers reflected the type to thrive in drier conditions. Their stems were thinner, more delicate than the meaty blades he observed the horses grazing on during his and Arya’s scouting. It was odd to think two drastically different types of lands could be only a few days apart.

As he waded through the rustling stock, he scanned the edges of the plain for any sign of running water. He even stopped several times to listen for even a trickle, but all he could hear were slender flowers flitting against neighboring grasses and his blood pounding in his ears. He stomped around the base of the notorious hill, knowing the water couldn’t be found there. And besides, this wasn’t a lovely little trip to marvel at its curious structure and purpose, this was life or death; and time was moving quickly.

Minutes, hours went by as he trudged in and out of trees hunting desperately for any sign of water. It didn’t help that his eyes were foggy and his mind slowly losing its sharpness, but his determination for saving Arya kept him alert. So alert, that faint voices punctured the stuffiness of his eardrum. He leapt behind a tree, finding that he had wandered deep into one of the array of timber to the south of High Heart.

“What do you think yer doing? Can’t ya even fill a basin right?” The man’s exasperated tone easily reached Gendry. There were other noises but he supposed they weren’t speaking anything of importance. He was listening hard, waiting for another indication that he had just found water. There was no more sound coming from that particular spot so he silently crept from one tree to the next getting nearer to the source. He assumed there were two people, but he didn’t even know where they were. His mind was racing, painfully aware of how much time he was taking, yelling urgently for him to hurry.

Gendry strengthened his grip on the bark of the tree, its ridges catching under his nails, and his fingers tightened around the handle of his sword at his hip. He took a deep breath and glanced from around the trunk to see a small dip in the earth, water leaking from its mouth. _“This is where someone could make a well,”_ he thought to himself. He had never seen the location of a well before it was actually installed, but he guessed it was a natural aquifer.

“ _Hey!”_ the man’s voice was harsh and loud, its suddenness almost toppling Gendry over from his startled reaction. Gendry recovered and ducked behind his tree again, waiting. His sword was creeping out of its scabbard little by little, preparing for a fight. But it never came, and the yelling continued further away. It continued to dissipate until he heard nothing but bubbling from the hole in the ground. He tried not to think about the voice too much, as it very slightly sounded like Lem Lemoncloak. The Brotherhood was the last thing he needed to come in between him and saving Arya.

He peeked around the tree once again, deciding it was clear. As he shuffled out, he immediately began seeking the purple flower. There was a thick amount of vegetation suffocating the watery indent. Blue and yellow flowers with pale orange centers, pink flowers that spiraled about like they were looking for their soulmate, and tiny white flowers that looked like they grew for the purpose of high ladies admiring them; but no purple petals could be seen. The fear of Arya dying was creating an irrational sense of panic deep in his belly.

Gendry rummaged through the mess of color using his arms and hands and feet to separate the knotted mess. Stems snapped and petals released from the round core they worked so hard to provide for, but the desired plant was nowhere to be found. He found himself having to stop and support his weight on a tree as a coughing fit shook his body. The illness left material in his lungs to rattle threateningly. _I have to find it before I run out of time, myself._

Straightening from the kind tree, he walked through the wrecked halo of blossoms regretting his surge of fear. He hadn’t actually observed his original target so when he became near, the shallow hollow greeted him with happy bubbling. The water flowed over pale stones that nestled comfortably around the premature well. Stepping closer revealed the water would just sink in to the ground around it, making the trek to the clear puddle difficult. He spotted the footprints of the most recent visitors; two pairs, one large and the other smaller. The smaller set barely left their mark, meaning they must have belonged to a child. The nearer he became, the further his feet were swallowed into the mud. He couldn’t imagine the natural water source receiving much attention with all the moss and grass blanketing his path. The two people before must have just stumbled upon it.

As he approached, he noticed a small gleam between the yellow rocks. At first glance, he assumed the water was just winking in the sunlight, but it was a dimmer glint. His feet made sloppy noises as he worked his way through the muck to get a closer look. He kneeled on an adjacent rock and reached toward the strange object. He wiggled his fingers in the gap and they brushed a smooth, cold object. At first, he was sure it was a blade he was going to slice his fingers on, but it was soft and wet after prodding it lightly. He drew back and stared at the contrasting color coating his fingertips. It was a sickly color, almost brown but also purple if basked in the light. He screwed up his face and trudged to the other side of the rock. The gasp he took in triggered a wet cough as he hunched over to find a mauve petal waving at him. When he stooped for a closer look, he wanted to congratulate the flower on its expert hiding place. The plant had rooted in the groove between two stones that happened to gather a livable amount of soil, just for the flower’s home. A tall yellow tower stood proudly among the pretty, curly lavender petals as if it was a king surrounded by his seductive concubines. His fingers twitched toward them but he remembered Maester Vyman’s words: “ _I need the berries that will be with the plant.”_

Gendry anxiously probed the little cave with his eyes and remembered the gross substance on his fingers. With his hands shaking meagerly, he lifted the rock concealing one side of the antidote and found a small bundle of round fruits. They were all glaring madly at him as if declaring war for the one berry crushed on its side, its life’s blood smeared on his skin. He was a little taken aback by how menacing their pure black flesh shone at him. Patting his pockets and clothes, he realized he didn’t come with a means to protect them. There wasn’t time to dawdle about for a container, so he ripped at his cotton shirt, making certain there was enough to wrap them securely. Also, remembering how easily the last berry gave in to his finger’s pressure made him more gentle when he gripped the fruit and pulled until they let go of the vine supporting them. He swiftly put them into the makeshift pocket and tucked it all around like they were a child in a bed.

Cradling them in his hands, he ran as fast as he could back to his steed. He looked up to see the sun high in the sky signaling midday. _I need to get back as soon as possible._ Only after a few minutes of sprinting, his chest was tightening and wheezing accompanied his heavy breathing. _I need to hold on until I’m back at Riverrun. There isn’t time for me to be sick._

Bursting through the brush and trees to meet his horse about made him lose her as she reared knocking her reigns free. He grasped the leather straps and calmed her, speaking low and reassuringly. After a few moments he was able to gently place the package for Arya at the base of the tree and load up the mare. Gendry tried the best he could to ignore the sores he covered with the saddle and bags. They weren’t quite oozing with infection yet but he was sure that was to come by the time they reached their home again. He took out his food and tossed it to the ground as he frantically tried to make a safe resting area for the berries. After putting them at the bottom of the bag, he tore his loaf of bread apart with his teeth and build a small fortress of protection. He wanted to hold them to assure their safety, but he knew he could easily crush them with his fingers when riding.

He prayed to the old gods and new as he swung a leg up on to the quick-footed mare, his disquiet possessing her. They galloped off into a swirl of cloak and earth. Their path had now reversed and they were returning the way they came. Arya’s quietly sleeping face flashed in Gendry’s mind as he ducked low to allow the wind to bend around him efficiently. _We won’t stop until we get there._ He reached out to pat the hard working hide of his horse. _Forgive me, but there are more important lives than our own._ Taking a deep motivated breath in, he turned his head to relinquish it with a cough violent enough to raise some of the phlegm residing in his lungs. He coughed more, but tasted metal, like he had licked a sword and barely cut his tongue. He spit in the breeze and watched crimson paint the wind.


	5. Chapter 5

After being poisoned and letting herself be cut by the fear of death, there was nothing but darkness. She felt tired but mostly disappointed with the fact that she died by the hand of a craven. And she died without much dignity either. Though, that didn’t seem to bother her as much as Gendry’s response to her dramatic death. There wasn’t much to remember since everything happened so quickly, but she definitely remembered Gendry’s quick action in his attempt to save her. As he scooped her into his arms and dashed for the horses, he spoke words of reassurance. Though, it was hard to remember his effort when all she could hear was her suffocated gasping.

It didn’t make sense for Gendry to be so disturbed by her death when he was so willing to leave her for the Brotherhood. When it happened, she was upset that her friend abandoned her and left her to face the reality of the world on her own. Now, she was older and experienced in the nature of people and their habits of leaving, whether through lack of loyalty or death. Never becoming close enough to others to feel the unforgiving thread of connection, was something she was always aware of in the presence of others. Her Uncle Brynden was slowly knitting a bond with her and as much as she tried to unravel it, it knotted and became tighter. It wasn’t something she wanted, nor was it something she could avoid. The only way of ending their attachment was to cut it. She supposed her death would do the trick.  

Though, after thinking about her uncle and Gendry she was beginning to feel warm again. The coldness she felt from being in the dark for so long was fading. Her finger tips tingled and slowly made its way up her arm and to her chest. It crept slowly at first but then it blazed like wildfire, touching every inch of her skin. The sudden shock woke her and she felt everything and heard everything again.

Her gasps were loud in her ears but she had a feeling everything was magnified and she wasn’t as loud as her ears led her to believe. Voices poked at her ears insistently, demanding that she respond. The last thing she wanted was to talk with the intense aches her whole body was suffering from. Though, the incessant talking annoyed her enough to force a small reply: “I’m awake.” And for some terrible reason, revealing her consciousness was like permission for her body to unveil the agonizing consequences of sleeping for a prolonged length of time. She wasn’t sure how long she had been sleeping, or if she was actually dead and this was the unfortunate fate that came with it, but it had to have been enough to make her body rebel against being awake.

She was groaning involuntarily, moving her limbs about, flexing and twisting like a worm out of soil. A cold, damp pressure appeared on her forehead and Maester Vyman spoke with authority, “Be sure she drinks a pitcher of water to start, then alternate with bread and another pitcher. She needs to catch up on a couple days’ sustenance. Also, she is going to need to relieve herself, which may be painful.” _Is he seriously discussing my pissing and shitting with someone?_

“Are you sure she is going to be alright? She sounds like she’s in pain.” _Of course, he’s telling my uncle about my foreseen chamber pot fate._ The Blackfish sounded irritated with the maester and mostly exasperated with the situation.

The maester replied with an unsettling amount of patience, “Yes, my lord. I’m sure her body is fighting the poison and no doubt, the antidote. She will be at peace soon.”

“At peace?” she managed to choke out, almost laughing, “Am I dying?” To be honest, she would gladly accept death at this point in the process of relinquishing the poison. Though, this pain was much different than when she was initially poisoned.

“Arya, you aren’t dying. Thanks to the antidote, the poison will be out of you soon.” As her uncle reassured her bitter sarcasm, she could already begin to feel the burning dissipate.

“Ah, good.” She grunted, already attempting to accelerate recovery with opening her eyes. A piercing headache welcomed her efforts, but she thanked the lack of light in the room for stifling a much worse pain. There were two faces staring down at her anxiously, but with two types of expressions. Maester Vyman seemed much more lax and unconcerned, as he smiled lightly. Her Uncle Brynden on the other hand, was much more afflicted. However, she was beginning to think something else was at hand as she watched his sharp grey eyes dart toward the door tensely.

As she focused on slowing her breaths, she spotted more people in the room. “We may be needing to move her soon, my lord.” She watched servants bustle around the room carrying pans of water and linen. _Was all of that for me?_

She hadn’t realized her uncle was holding her hand until he squeezed it and nodded, “I know. Let’s do it now.” Bending down and scooping her out of the bed without warning, caused her to seize his neck in surprise.

“Where are we going? I can walk on my own.” She was feeling better and better by the second, though the painful emptiness of her belly was becoming apparent.

He walked through the doorway out into the hall, being careful to maneuver her feet around the frame. The Blackfish set off at a quick pace, passing door upon door. He took a deep breath in, “You are going to need some more rest before you walk, my lady. You’ve been asleep for almost four days now.” He climbed a small set of stairs, “There are servants here that will help you recuperate. I expect there won’t be any issues following directions,” they entered a new room with a similar layout and he set her on a new bed. The smell of leather lingered on her shoulders and in the cloth of the hideous gown she just realized she was wearing. Her uncle sat quickly beside her, on the very edge of the mattress, but was in a stance to take off running at a moment’s notice. The Lord of Riverrun put a hand on her shoulder and held her eyes in a strange, comforting way. He said, “I’m glad to see you well, Arya. Please just do as you are told and stay here. Drink the water, eat the bread, and don’t leave this room until the Maester confirms your recovery.” His gaze intensified, “Do you understand?”

Something was happening for him to be so forceful and it wasn’t the importance of restoring her health. She nodded silently. He stood again, recited the maester’s instructions to the waiting servants and dashed from the room. She would do what the maester said, but she wouldn’t stay any longer than that.

After experiencing the maester’s warning about the chamber pot, she obediently drank the recommended water and scarfed down nearly a whole loaf of bread. The servants revealed a more suitable change of clothes with her own boots to accompany them. By their awkward smiles, she was displaying too much appreciation for providing an escape from the horrid garment her rude servant, Freya subjected her to. As she sat chewing and ripping at the bread the servants never seemed to run out of, she began thinking about her current situation. She had just woke up from a poison induced coma that was caused by a maester from a group of Freys. _Those fucking Freys are going to pay for everything they have done._ The thought of what that particular house had done to contribute to the falling of house Stark, had her clenching her fists and spitefully replaying all the Frey deaths she made happen. She wouldn’t forget the suffering they put her through. _The North remembers._

Vengeful acts clouded her mind as she chewed angrily. She was so engrossed she nearly missed the quiet conversation two maids were muttering:

“Did you see him when he come in the gates? He was barely clingin’ to that poor mare…”

“Well, he flew all the way to High Heart in a few days! Either he’s blessed by the gods or his horse is one.”

The two young women giggled then lapsed back to their seriousness. She strained her ears harder.

“Ol’ Pete told me the man just collapsed in the mud once the berries he fetched was in the hands of Lord Tully. It’s hard to imagine any man doin’ somethin’ so heroic as saving my life like him.”

They both glanced back at her and squeaked like mice caught indulging themselves on a chunk of cheese. The pair hastily continued whatever they were preparing but she wasn’t ready to let go whatever everyone was being so suspicious about.

Nonchalantly she took a sip of water and asked, “Who are you talking about?”  

The smaller girl, younger than Arya, blurted, “The friend you came here with -,” her innocent response was interrupted by a yelp put on by the older girl’s pinch and angry chastise.

Her precious water nearly dropped to the floor.The girls huddled frantically together as she stalked forward. “Gendry? Where is he? What happened?” she demanded, staring intently into their frightened eyes.

The small one was clutching the other, face buried deep in her bosom. She couldn’t expect much out of her but the eldest met her gaze. It wasn’t just fear she saw, but pity dampened the deep blue of her irises as well. “M’lady, your friend is well. Please don’ fret.”

She couldn’t keep her panic at bay, especially with a lie as meager as the girl attempted. “Stop lying to me, right now. Your eyes couldn’t fool a child. If it is my uncle you’re worried about, I’ll take care of it. Tell me what happened _now._ ” Her voice was hard but fear tore holes in her desired demeanor.

“I-I ain’t suppose’ta -,” the servant muttered, trembling.

A heavy sigh left her lips, fluttering across the girls’ hair. She stood straight, feeling unpleasant aches in her joints and head. Setting the goblet of water on a nearby table, she turned calmly, readying a more charming veneer. “I promise nothing will happen to either of you if you tell me. My uncle will not berate you in any way.” She paused and smiled sweetly, “House Stark is of higher authority than his after all.” Bile rose in her mouth from more than just her lady-like pretense.

As she struggled to swallow the sickness, the maidservants relaxed into a more dignified stance and obediently spoke, “Lady Arya, your friend is ill. He left and retrieved the antidote for you at High Heart returning in the time it would take to just travel there.” The girls exchanged an empathetic look before oppressing their sadness on her.

“Where is he?” she whispered, worried if she opened her mouth too wide, the bread and water would break free.

“We don’t -,” they started and she cut them off with a hand.

“No, I know.” She said, stumbling to her cup and draining the liquid. The girls were at her side, awaiting her collapse, but instead she strode between them and out the door.


	6. Chapter 6

 

As soon as she left the room, she broke into a run. Not long after, she had to slow and brace herself against the wall. _Gods, I feel like I was trampled by all the armies in Westeros._ The throb in her head was overbearing, her ears thundering from the rush of blood. Taking deep breaths didn’t make much of a difference but she forced herself into a steady pace toward the maester’s chamber using the wall for support. A few steps in and a shout reached her. It didn’t take much for her mind to seize in recognition. _Gendry._ Her stomach dropped to her toes. Her legs were still unsteady but she pushed them to a run anyway. As she got closer, the cries became more persistent.

There was a large man standing outside the door, watching as she neared. “Let me in.” she breathed through the nausea rising in her throat. She was still not feeling well but she did as Maester Vyman asked. He never said she had to stay bed ridden for a long time; although, that would’ve been helpful.

“I’m sorry, milady. I have orders to keep you out.” The large man said. He didn’t even look at her when he spoke.

“I don’t care. They’re hurting him, aren’t they? Let me in, _now_.” She could feel her anger mixing with her queasiness causing a burning, acidic feeling in her gut. She prayed to the gods to keep the bile at bay. Losing her recovery meal wouldn’t convince the man that she could go see Gendry at all.

“No, milady.” He continued to stare forward. Another shout came from the room. Arya stared at the door. It sounded like he was _begging_. What were they doing to him to make him sound like that? She had never seen him hurt enough to complain or need help. She knew he was sick. Really sick. But why would his illness make him beg? Not knowing was killing her. She had to do something to make this brute of a man move.

She lifted her boot to her hand and drew the dagger from the inner lining. The blade brushed her skin and she shivered slightly. A quick scan of the soldier revealed only a sword at his waist.

She moved in one fluid motion, feet gliding forward and blade pressing dangerously to the bob in his throat. He gasped because she knew he didn’t see her move. That was her advantage; quick and unexpected. “I trained with the Faceless Men of Braavos. No doubt you have heard how deadly I am. Let me in or I’ll-,” she paused, “Or I’ll give you the _gift_.” She said the last part between her teeth to give it a little more menace. She knew she wouldn’t give him the gift because they were acquainted, but he didn’t need to know that.

He stared down at her and tried to reach his sword but her other hand was already on the pommel. She knew she was much smaller than the broad guard, but her dagger had enough length to make up for it. “Open the door or I’ll kill you.” She whispered againas another muffled shout touched her ears.

The man glanced at her once more and reached back to the door knob. He turned it and she slipped by him into the room.

The first thing she did was hold her breath. The smell overwhelmed her stomach and she had to swallow the gag threatening to give her position away. It reeked of incense and death. The warmth of the room magnified the stench and her dizzy head. She put her mouth into her elbow and breathed deeply. The muffled air helped clear her head and steel herself against the wretched mix of smells.

She looked across the room to see a cluster of men, one being her Uncle Brynden, and Maester Vyman standing off to the side holding a bowl. She didn’t see Gendry but realized he was being blocked from her view by all the men surrounding his bed. Why were there so many men here? They didn’t notice her presence so she crept forward quietly in case they intended to make her leave as soon as they saw her. The room was dark so she stayed in the shadows peeking around the men. She saw all of their hands grasping Gendry and suddenly they were all struggling and mumbling to each other.

“Please! I’m fine! I’m getting better, please don’t do this.” A voice pleaded from the bed. It was a hoarse, panicked rasp that sounded like what she thought a white walker‘s voice would produce. It didn’t sound like Gendry so maybe she wrong about the whole situation. She edged closer only to gasp at the figure on the bed.

His skin shined with a feverish sweat. The paleness of his body almost blinded her and his face – was so broken and scared. She had never seen Gendry like this. It made her stomach twist into knots to see the obvious fear emanating from his glassy, blue eyes. Soon, she realized they were returning her gaze.

“Arya.” He gasped, smiling. All of the men’s eyes followed his to where she was standing.

“What are you _doing_ to him?” she demanded, striding forward to her Uncle still brandishing the knife. She didn’t intend to use it but all the men stepped in front of Lord Tully. Gendry was reaching for her but all she wanted was to get answers so she continued to pursue the Blackfish. “What is happening? Why are you holding him down like this?”

She heard his irritated voice coming from behind the men, “Get out of my way. She isn’t going to hurt me.” He stepped out, practically swinging the men aside like doors, and grabbed the hand holding the knife. She released her grip gingerly and let him put the blade in his belt. “Arya, how did you get in here?” He steered her away toward the covered window.

“I only threatened him so I could come in. Why did you have him keep me from coming in to see Gendry? What are you doing to him? Why hasn’t the maester cured him yet?” All of her questions tumbled from her mouth and she suddenly thought of Gendry and wanted to go to him. He needed to know that no one was going to hurt him.

“Arya, he’s sick. We were trying to get leeches on him to get the bad blood out but he won’t let us without fighting. And you aren’t supposed to be here-,”

“Why won’t he let you leech him? Is there another way?”

Her Uncle Brynden sighed, “He’s delirious from the fever. He must have had a bad experience with leeches.” He looked at Arya and his eyes were sad, “He will die if we can’t remove the sickness from his blood.” She looked to where Gendry was laying and felt a sense of heavy responsibility. _He’s sick because of me._

“Let me talk to him and see if I can convince him.” She replied quietly. Her Uncle nodded hesitantly and followed her over to the cot. He looked like a large child in a baby’s bed. His shoulders were broader than the width and his feet hung off the end slightly. His eager, feverish eyes followed her as she neared.

She walked to his side and he tried pushing himself up more on the bed. She looked into his glazed blue orbs, unsure of what to say. His eager disposition made her speak as if to a child, “Hi Gendry. How are you feeling?”

He smiled and a red smudge shone brightly against his white teeth, “I’m feeling better -,” a cough interrupted him. His head fell back to his pillow with the force of it and he coughed upward, his spine arching. He continued into a violent coughing fit and the maester pushed passed her, holding a cloth to his mouth, pulling on his shoulder until he was sideways. Red splattered from his mouth onto the white linen. A shock of terror shook her bones. Her pulse quickened as she thought of her family; the family that died and left her. And now Gendry was dying because of her. His body shook with more coughing and his breath was becoming short. She wanted to run away. Get away from the sound of his ragged breath. She turned to bolt from the room but collided into someone. She looked up to see her Uncle Brynden. He grabbed her shoulders as if to steady her. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes. _No, not here._ She tried pushing passed him but instead he pulled her to his chest. She may have been frozen in surprise but the emotions didn’t cease.

“He needs you here. Be strong, girl.” He pressed his lips on her forehead and squeezed her. His lips were rough and she could feel his facial hair scratch at her forehead. Her mind thought back to when she was in King’s Landing with her father. The warmth of the Blackfish and the tickle of his hair reminded her of him. She nodded cautiously. She didn’t hear Gendry coughing anymore so she broke from her uncle’s grasp and walked back to him.

When he looked up at her, his gaze was heavy. He smiled again, only more tired and weak. It took a lot of control to keep her voice from shaking, “Gendry, you aren’t well. And you won’t get well until you let the maester leech your blood.” His eyes grew wide and the fear returned to them.

“Please. Don’t-,” he rasped.

She interrupted, feigning confidence, “You have to Gendry. You will die if you don’t.” She paused enough for him to open his mouth in more protest, “Stop being so stubborn and just do it, damn you.” She said, forcing a grin onto her face.

He looked almost hurt but his mouth pulled up at the sides. “You’re a terrible liar.” He replied and it was almost like the old Gendry was back. He looked at Maester Vyman and nodded warily. She breathed a sigh of relief and intended to leave, turning away, grateful not to look on Gendry’s pained expressions or smell the sickness rolling off of him. But she felt someone clutch her hand. She stared down at his pale, sweaty fingers tightening their grasp.


	7. Chapter 7

“Stay with me.” Gendry whispered searching her face. She looked back at her uncle and he nodded urging her back towards him. She swallowed nervously. She didn’t know if she could take anymore. She almost walked out already from the feelings she was having. His hand was clammy and cold which was strange, but what was even more bizarre to her was that he was holding her hand in the first place. It must be his fever messing with his head.

She stepped closer and nodded. His face relaxed with relief and his eyes slid closed. She could see red on the inside of his nostrils and the corner of his mouth. Maester Vyman was standing on the other side of him with a bowl in his hand. She could see a black mound moving, slithering. Her stomach still caused a raucous and the blood-suckers were not helping.

She looked back at Gendry, his eyebrows worrying at his closed eyes. “Can’t you give him some dream wine or milk of the poppy and do this when he goes to sleep?” Arya asked the maester worriedly.

“I would have done that already my lady, but I have already given him too much. I’m afraid if he falls asleep now-,” he stopped and glanced away. She knew what he was going to say.

“Let’s get this over with.” She mumbled staring at the leeches. He nodded and took the tweezers from the table next to him and picked one from the pile. It curled and uncurled frantically until he placed it onto Gendry’s stomach. His skin tightened as he tensed against the writhing leech. It was like he stopped breathing.

Unsure of how to comfort him, she said, “Gendry, you have to relax.” For the first time since he held her hand, she responded by squeezing his fingers. It was like he was made of stone and she broke him apart with the slight touch. His body visibly sunk deeper into the mattress and his face mirrored someone in a deep slumber. She felt herself begin to panic at the thought of him sleeping, the maester’s words reiterating their importance. “Gendry, are you awake?” she said, with no response. Taking in a deep breath, she repeated, “Gendry?”

The maester looked at him with matched concern until Gendry nodded slowly, “I’m here, Arya.”

She let the air out that she was holding and said, “Well don’t go to sleep, okay?”

He smiled weakly. She wondered what was making him so calm. There were four men in here holding him down when they attempted to put leeches on him then. He’s being so strange.

Maester Vyman continued to place leeches on Gendry’s middle and he continued to leave his eyes closed. She didn’t know what to do. She sighed in exasperation. She felt helpless just standing next to him holding his hand. What was that doing? Nothing. If there was someone that did this, then she would kill them but there was no one. Just sickness. She looked around for something, anything to ease her restlessness. Instead, she settled on Gendry’s face.

His eye lids were almost blue with the veins that pressed through. He was so pale, even his lips. They were cracked and chapped with small lines of red where the skin was broken and bloody. She thought for sure if someone touched them they would crumble like one of the ancient Stark statues hidden deep in the crypts of Winterfell. Gendry risked his health to retrieve her antidote and now she stood there watching helplessly; no instant cure and no miracle remedy to fetch in return. Just another person she was forced to stand by and watch suffer and die. This was the exact reason for not making attachments. Her pain was ceaseless even after they had long gone to join the release of death. They were free of worry and guilt, but she never would be.

Her mind refocused on the room. She hadn’t realized she was staring until she felt her body swaying. The maester noticed and looked at her nervously.

“Mayhaps you should have a seat, my lady?” He set the bowl on the table and shuffled around the bed and pulled a chair from the wall. “Please, you aren’t recovered yet.” She stared at him and realized the room was slightly spinning. Sitting would be better than waking up on the floor. She pulled her hand from Gendry’s and pulled the chair up to the cot. She didn’t understand the instinct that overcame her to place her hand back where it was before. Her fingers slid back into place beneath Gendry’s. It startled her when he tightened his grip. She looked to his face and found his eyes open and his dry lips stretched to a small smile.

She didn’t see the maester return to his spot beside Gendry until he spoke, “I think this will do for now. We need to let them finish their work.” He looked to Arya and added, “My lady, you must get more rest if you want to get back your strength.”

She nodded impatiently, “I know. I will resign to bed soon. I’m fine for now.”

He bowed and excused himself to retreat to his desk. She rolled her eyes and without much resistance, found herself looking back at Gendry. He was looking at her with a pained expression. This was a different look than before. She raised an eyebrow at him.

He swallowed dryly and rasped, “You should go rest.” The sound of his voice almost made her cringe. It wasn’t Gendry’s deep, confident tone. It was rough and withdrawn. Almost that he was shy of her.

“I just said I’m fine. I can stay for a while longer.” He nodded meagerly and looked down at his middle and then quickly closed his eyes. She thought his face got paler; if that was even possible. She had almost forgotten about the leeches until she saw them bulge and writhe on his skin. There were at least ten and five spotting his white skin. It reminded her of blood drops in snow.

She wasn’t sure how she could make him feel better and she was tired of sitting uselessly. When she was younger and was ill in Winterfell, her mother would reminisce her youth and meeting her father. Without hesitation, her mouth opened, “In Winterfell, Old Nan would tell us stories,” she paused and glanced at him, “my favorite were the ones about what was beyond the Wall.”

He opened his eyes and watched her. Before she could go on he said, “Will you tell me one?” He shifted on the bed and turned his head toward her. His dark hair lay soaked with sweat against his forehead and his feverish eyes bore into hers. She felt his fingers moving under her own. For some reason it made her want to move closer.

“Sure, I’ll tell you about the ice dragon.” He smiled faintly and she added, “You aren’t going to get scared are you?” She grinned and he coughed out a small chuckle.

“Shut up and tell me the story or I’ll fall asleep.” He teased back. She laughed and started talking about the ice dragon. She told him how if you got breathed on by one, you would instantly freeze. The stories Old Nan told her just tumbled from her mind like she heard them yesterday. It was strange to think about how long ago it was. Just six years ago, she and her brothers were gathered around Old Nan listening to all of her mysterious tales.

As she spoke more about the ice dragon and its crystal blue scales and icy serpentine body, Gendry continued to look into her eyes. His color began to mirror her imaginary ice dragon. Its long, thin body curled in a circle around the black egg of his pupil. His eyes weren’t his normal vibrant blue like what a real, fierce ice dragon would be colored, but a stormy, dark grey like an ice dragon that was exposed to too much heat. The original crystal that radiated from its scales became dull and fogged with moisture. Gendry’s eyes were similar. They were dark and glassy, far from his usual bright and vigorous gaze. His strong eyes were what Arya liked most about Gendry. But now that vibrancy was being smothered and taken from her.

“There is a constellation in the form of the ice dragon. Its blue-.“

“-eyes point North.” Gendry interrupted, whispering. His whole body shivered, his face looked completely wasted of all energy. His jaw hung slack and the skin on his face seemed to just barely cling to the bone underneath. She knew he was really sick but now it seemed that he was finally letting the pain show on the outside.

“Maester, can the leeches come off now?” she called over to the old man. She knew if the leeches were gone Gendry would rest easier.

Maester Vyman walked over, “Ah, yes. It is about time to take these off.” He reached for his bowl and looked at Gendry, “This may hurt a little, son.” He slowly reached forward and pinched the head of one leech to release the suction from Gendry’s skin.

He didn’t seem to react. His remained tilted her way, eyes staring downward to their hands.

“Here, let me help.” She offered anxiously. She wanted to get them off as soon as possible. Lord Bolton once had her do the same when she was at Harrenhal. She stood and released Gendry’s hand. As soon as she let go, his hand laid palm up, his fingers curled loosely open, left the way they were when he was holding her hand. His eyes stayed locked where their hands were a moment ago. It made her nervous to not see him respond to anything and just lay limp.

She quickly removed the writhing, fat black parasites from his pale skin. He was whiter than before the leeches. It was like they sucked the very last drops of blood from his body. They pulled the last ones off, leaving blood leaking from the small gaping holes. It looked like he had been stabbed over and over with the blade Jon gave her, Needle. She still had Needle but didn’t use it because she had grown out of it. It made her uneasy to think the red gouges in Gendry looked like Needle’s doing. The Maester used a rag to dab at the bloody hollows.

When he finished he took her elbow and steered her away. “My lady, you need rest,” he held up his hand expecting her angry reply, “as does he. I am going to give him dream wine.”

Her chest swelled with relief, “So he will be okay?”

Maester Vyman looked at her with pitiful, grey eyes. “I don’t know. The leeches removed some infected blood but I am not sure if it was enough. Not yet.” He paused and studied her worried face, “He needs to sleep to improve but if he sleeps I cannot guarantee he will wake up. I have done what I can. He is in the gods’ hands now.” He patted her arm and walked to his table. She followed him because she didn’t believe that Gendry might not live. He talked to her and didn’t look like a man that could die.

“Wait. Are you sure? I know he’s sick but he doesn’t seem that bad…”

“He has been on the road for several days without sleep or any kind of rest. I’m impressed with his strength but he has been continuing on with his adrenaline alone. Haven’t you noticed he’s beginning to become weaker as he gets more relaxed? His health is finally catching up with him.” He poured the dark red liquid into a deep goblet. The darkness of the room made the cup look like an unending pit. “Lady Arya, he is getting weaker. Sleep is his only savior.”

She followed him back to where Gendry laid. He was still staring with his eyes half open at his hand. She walked to where she had been before and touched his hand. She wanted him so badly to react and not be so vacant. His fingers moved softly to her touch but his eyes stayed frozen in an impassive look. She would have thought he was dead if not for his fingers’ slight movement.

Maester Vyman pressed his palm against Gendry’s forehead and his eyebrows pulled together in concentration. He shook his head and moved his hand to the side of Gendry’s face and leaned it so he was ready to take the wine. He raised the goblet to Gendry’s lips and she felt something stir inside of her.

“Wait.” She said quickly, “I need to tell him something before he goes to sleep.” The maester nodded and stepped back. She wasn’t sure if he would wake up again and she needed to tell him she was sorry. Everything that happened made her feel that she was responsible for his potential demise.

She gripped his hand tighter and opened her mouth ready to tell him everything she was thinking. Suddenly she felt butterflies filling her stomach causing her to hesitate. Instead she whispered, “Gendry.” She didn’t know what to expect but he moved his head and opened his eyes wider. They looked blank and darker than before. “I…” she stopped because her stomach was overwhelming her and she decided that her own sickness was just making her feel silly. _I’m so stupid. Why would he care? It wouldn’t bring him happiness._

“Just wake up. Okay?” He managed to tense his mouth and force a small smile. The color of his eyes changed at her words. They were even darker, but not duller. There was recognition and realization in the depths of his eyes. He knew he might not wake up.

The maester reappeared beside him with the goblet. She couldn’t seem to tear her eyes from the sadness in his. Gendry’s hand trembled in hers and she took it in both of her hands to possibly steady it. Her mind was returning to the state it was before; when his racking coughs were consuming his body and she believed his fate would become similar to her family’s.

The goblet glinted in the limited light as it was tipped against Gendry’s dry, broken lips. The desperate gaze was extinguished momentarily as he closed his eyes and he received the dream wine. She watched his adam’s apple work to swallow the liquid. The goblet was removed and she searched his face, hoping for one last glimpse of his eyes, just once more before he fell asleep. But instead she saw a tear escape and run down his cheek as if it was fleeing from his sorrow. His hands’ tremors spread to the rest of his body. His eyes snapped open suddenly with complete dismay filling them, startling her with a gasp.

“Wait, I don’t-” he breathed, panicked.

She spoke breathless, startled, “Gendry, it’s okay. You’re going to be fine.” He was shaking his head and more tears spilled, soaking his pale skin. The maester looked upon him, forlorn. He turned and walked away, shoulders slumped. She watched him leave in disbelief. She didn’t think he was trying hard enough to make Gendry better.

His breath was slowing and his eyes drooping. He continued to mouth words through his wheezing. His eyes were pleading with her like he was trying to tell her something. She still held his hand with both of hers, trying to calm him.

“Gendry, don’t be afraid. You’ll wake -,” she stopped as he had pulled her hand to his slowly, heaving chest. His action brought her closer to him, the stench of stale blood and blatant fear caressed her nose.

                “I don’t-,” he whispered, breathing a puff of air that smelled and tasted like desperation over Arya’s mouth, “I don’t want this-,” he mumbled. She could feel the tears in her eyes and tried pushing them away. _Why do I feel afraid? Fear cuts deeper than swords._ His eyes were falling and she could only see a glimmer of blue just through his wet eye lashes.

                “Don’t be afraid, you won’t die.” She murmured, convincing more herself than him. She assumed he was trying to say that he didn’t want to die or that he was afraid to die. That was normal but it wasn’t something she was afraid of happening to herself. However, now it seemed she was afraid of him dying. She had killed men for the many faced god but this was different. It was Gendry, someone she knew. _Valar Morghulis._ _All men must die._ She tried to convince herself that the same phrase applied to this, but she couldn’t do it. The phrase cut deep into the empty hole in her chest, ripping it through and through.

                His hand had gone completely limp and his eyes nearly closed. He continued to breathe, “I don’t want this…” but never finishing. Finally, he sighed one last word before allowing his eyes to succumb to the influence of the wine.

                “Arya.” His mouth hung slack with the last vowel released. She couldn’t move. Her body wanted to linger over him and let the sound of her name sink into it. The nearness of him would have made her uncomfortable but she felt like she was protecting him, defending him, guarding him. She felt like a wolf standing over an injured pack member. _  
_

                Before she stumbled from the room and into the coolness of the hallway, she silently promised Gendry she would return every day until he woke. She wouldn’t let her lonely curse consume him. Not today.


	8. Chapter 8

As she wandered the halls to the sanctity of her chambers, Gendry’s sad face floated in her mind. _Why did he have to do this to himself? He would be fine right now if not for me._ Her chest felt heavy with fatigue and guilt. She passed a few people who wished her better health soon and all she could do was nod and smile appreciatively. No one ever asked about Gendry, they only cared for a high lady’s health. He was lowborn and insignificant. If he died, it wouldn’t make a difference. She sighed heavily at the thought of Gendry dying as she pushed the large oak door to her chamber open.

 A servant girl practically ran to her side. “I’m so happy to see you up and well, milady.” She was a skinny, red-haired girl with large, watery pale blue eyes. She sounded as if she was on the verge of bursting into tears.

“Thank you, Cera. I’m feeling fine now. Just tired.” Arya gave her a small smile. The girl reminded her of a cross between herself and her lost sister, Sansa. She looked like she would enjoy being carried away by a charming knight; a dream Sansa would voice every day.

The girl nodded eagerly, “I have a bath ready for you and your night clothes-,”

Arya raised her hand to stop her from her rehearsed line of night preparations. In fact, she wasn’t really sure what time of day or night it was. She knew it was dark outside but she wasn’t sure if it was late evening or early morning. “Cera, what time is it? Is it late?”

“It is the middle o’ the night, milady. Possibly close to dawn.”

“Cera, why are you awake? You should be asleep, not tending to me.” She shook her head, knowing full well that her Uncle was behind this girl’s lack of sleep. She shooed the girl out of her chambers and assured her that she was going to go to sleep and not to worry until she woke much later in the day. She still could never get used to having a servant all the time. After years and years of doing the work of a lowborn, sitting back and allowing simple work to be done for her, irked her.

Her chamber was a large room with a small library in one corner, a giant copper tub in another and through the tall window was a beautiful view of the Red Fork. Her Uncle Brynden offered Arya her mother’s old chambers when she first arrived at Riverrun. She quickly and politely refused. He was always trying to force his memories of her mother on her. Arya knew he loved her and missed her, she did too, but she has always tried to avoid her memories and the rest of her family’s. It was just easier not to think about them.

She stood beside the mattress debating whether to change into the bed clothes that were laid out for her or to just crawl under the red and blue silk blankets, tunic and all. Eventually she had just flopped onto the top and curled in a ball. She was accustomed to sleeping without comfort and that’s what she preferred. Her eyes felt irritably dry and sore so it was a relief to close them. But Gendry’s face still hung in the darkness behind her lids. She forced the image away and thought of darkness. Just nothingness.

The nothingness changed to the smell of pine needles and river water. She hoped it was a wolf dream like she had before in Braavos. Ever since she returned to Westeros with intentions to end her prayer of names, the dreams stopped. The smell grew stronger allowing her to let an expanse of trees to sprout around her. The mist hugged her body, caressing her skin. She prowled through the trees, sword in hand, glancing back and forth through the branches. She came to an opening and realized it was the Frey’s camp her and Gendry found. The soldiers were unaware of her presence so she slipped in behind the first and slit his throat. The other three stood where they were as if they didn’t see it happen. She strode forward, letting her sword rip into the next one’s heart. There was blood on her hands, dripping from the pommel as she held it ready for another attacker. She turned and glimpsed Gendry smashing his large body against the third soldier and then easily sliding his blade between the ribs of the last. As the Frey men fell, she expected to hear the heavy, limp crash of their bodies against the ground. But there was nothing. She could only smell the scent of the trees and feel the warm blood trickle down her arms.

Gendry turned to smile at her, his eyes lit brightly against the mist reflecting in them. She felt her mouth ease into a thankful beam. Suddenly his face broke, and she could see the tip of a blade poking through the jerkin where his heart resided. His eyebrows pulled together and his mouth was twisted into a painful grimace. She felt her body shake as if she were screaming. Her muscles felt heavy with anguish as she watched him fall to his knees and then finally forward into the dirt. The hooded man stood with his hand frozen in place right where Gendry’s heart was when he was standing. He didn’t move either, even as she whipped her dagger to stick in between his eyes. It found its mark but the craven’s black eyes disappeared in a wisp of emerald smoke and left the dagger sticking in the tree behind him.

She tripped to her knees next to Gendry and turned him over with a shaking hand. His eyes stared upward to the treetops and his mouth left agape. Her fingers frantically searched his body for the wound but it was nowhere. Dried Frey blood clung to her skin but no more. Her body shook with another tremor of grief. Her deafness didn’t leave her unaware of the miserable cries leaving her mouth, filling her body, crushing her soul. She took Gendry’s face in her hands and held it against her chest, willing her body’s life to enter his and bring him back. She let his head fall into her lap and allowed one last broken howl to rip through her. She looked down into his pale blue eyes and let the tears fall. They felt heavy on her skin as they coursed down her hot skin. One ran down her nose and fell from the tip onto Gendry’s colorless skin. Its ruby gleam radiated brilliantly against the pallid expanse of his cheek. She lifted a hand from his face to her own and brushed under her eye. Her hand was outstretched before her and the thick blood on the ends of her fingers shone brightly.

She gasped and then there was darkness before her; the darkness of her room in the tower. Her throat and ears ached from the sobs shaking her body. She reached for her eyes before she even thought of it and the wetness that returned on them sent panic through her limbs. _Blood._ She frantically crawled from her bed to the floor and tore the heavy, embroidered curtains open spilling morning light on her. She hastily wiped at her wet face again and let the orange sunrise bathe her fingers. _Nothing. Just tears._ She held her hands up and let the sun shine between the gaps to her face. _Only a dream. Only a stupid dream._

She remained sitting on the floor allowing the cool autumn breeze raise goose pimples and sting her raw throat as she breathed in and out. _What kind of dream was that?_ Hearing herself breathe was strange after not having the ability in her dream. She rubbed her face and felt the soreness in her eyes from crying. She hated to cry, even before her family was taken away from her. She wasn’t a delicate, emotional lady. She was Arya Stark, lone wolf of Winterfell.

She stood deciding she wouldn’t be able to return to sleep and bathed in the water from the night before. She relished in the chill of it, washing over her skin and startling awake every nerve in her body. She dressed in a clean tunic and breeches and laced up her boots. She knelt beside her bed and slid her hand along the side and pulled out Needle.

She sighed with the comforting weight of it in her palm. This was the one piece of her she kept while she stayed at the House of Black and White. They asked her to be “No One” and that was who she was; until she held Needle. Needle was her home and her family and _her._ Arya Stark wasn’t a name someone could easily forget. And Needle wouldn’t let her. She sat thinking about her family only for a moment. She tried to pull their faces from her memory but they revealed themselves in her mind all distorted, like they were resisting her desperate tug.

She shook her head and returned Needle to its hiding place. She stood and almost fell back to her knees from the wave of nausea that swept her muscles. Her sickness was still upon her no matter how hard she tried to ignore it. During her sickness, she couldn’t eat or drink so she had to catch up. Water would help a lot so she set off to the main hall wearily. She encountered the same thoughtful remarks from servants and others as she made her way to the hall. According to the light in the sky, she couldn’t have slept longer than a few hours. _Damn that dream._ She wasn’t going to be in good shape later in the day.

The presence of the dining hall changed as soon as she opened the tall oaken doors. The servants were bustling back and forth between tables cleaning the morning mess until she entered. They dispersed quickly like a nest of rabbits being discovered by a predator. She sighed in annoyance as she walked the long hall to the high table. She would have just stayed and ate at one of the lower tables but that was one thing her uncle did not tolerate. He would allow her to wear and run about where she wished, but inside the castle he expected her to act like a proper lady.

She sat at the end of the great, unending wooden table and asked for a blood sausage, two hard-boiled eggs, bread, and water. Her thirst was the worst of her needs. Her stomach burned like a small fire and her head swam dizzily. She picked at the embroidered silver fish that swam in red and blue waters of thread that ran down the middle of the table. She tried to keep her eyes focused on the shiny scales because the room spun when she looked up.

Her food and water arrived and she gulped it all down while the servants stood by watching nervously. Her stomach was feeling better with each bite but her head was still throbbing. She drank the rest of her water and stood.

“Thank you.” She nodded in the gaping servants’ direction and strode off. She didn’t know where she was headed but she needed to walk. Her legs were aching for some physical attention so they started toward the practice yard on their own accord.

Her ears caught the sound of clanging swords and the _thump_ of arrows hitting a target. She thought of her daggers and her feet picked up their pace. She walked into view and the men turned to stare. They still weren’t used to a woman training with them. They always started off teasing her and then regretted it when she beat them into the ground. She smiled at the expressions she had received in the past.

She walked to the weapon racks and let the gleam of each blade touch her eye until her hand reached for the one she instinctively desired. A pair of daggers with leather handles. Simple and perfect. She turned them over in her hand. They were only practice daggers so the blade was flat and dull. But it was a beautiful blade. A blade stuck in the heart of Gendry. His crumpled, pain induced face flashed in the reflection of the blade and she dropped it. She felt sick all over again and her eyes started to water. She grabbed for a wall or something to steady herself but instead knocked swords and bows from their hooks, letting them crash to the ground in a thunder of scraping and ringing. She felt eyes on her as she stumbled to catch herself. She heard them begin to approach her with their offers of assistance but that was the last thing she wanted. She pushed past them without a word and walked to the maester’s tower. She knew she needed to see Gendry. The dream was nagging at the fringes of her mind. She needed the relief of knowing he was still alive. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for the kind comments! I'm really nervous each time I post a new chapter, mostly because it's my first facfic, but you're all so encouraging! I appreciate you! <3

The winding stairs felt like they were trying to keep her from the top, always building another step after another, after another. By the time she reached the top she was trying to catch her breath and her balance. _Gods, I am a mess._ She pushed through the door and sighed at the sight of Gendry’s unmoved body.

“My lady, what are you doing here? You should be resting.” Maester Vyman chided, walking quickly to her. He studied her with concerned grey eyes and a stubborn mouth.

She sighed in exasperation, “I’m fine. I just couldn’t sleep very well. I thought I would stop in and see how he’s doing.” She brushed passed the maester and walked to Gendry’s bed. He looked as he did when she left him; pale and broken, with the whisper of her name still on his lips.

“He’s still asleep and will remain that way for at least a few days if he’s improving.” He shuffled to Gendry’s other side and looked at Arya, “You don’t need to stay here, my lady. I will inform you if anything changes.”

His persistent attempts to convince her to leave made her want to stay longer. Maesters always made her feel uneasy. She knew they vowed to be loyal and do their duties to the sick, but she had heard of them poisoning others and being able to use sickness as an excuse. She trusted Maester Luwin, but she had grown up with him from her birth. He was practically a grandfather to her. Another family member killed because of her. She shook her head clear of the thoughts and sat in the unmoved chair beside Gendry’s bed.

“I think I will stay for a while. Since you won’t let me do anything else, I will just _rest_ here.” She hissed “rest” sarcastically hoping to annoy him. She was tired of his chastising.

“As you wish.” He huffed, leaving for his desk. She stuck her tongue out at his turned back. _Stupid maester._ Her eyes wandered back to Gendry and her chest  gave a guilty squeeze. She thought of her dream and chewed on her lip. He seemed fine for the condition he was in, but she couldn’t erase his face from her mind. His bare arms lay on top of the woolen blanket he was tucked into. They were still shiny with sweat along with his other exposed skin. She hesitantly reached for his hand, hoping it would help the pressure on her chest.

The skin on his palm was clammy and cold, his fingers lying beneath hers limply. His hand was so big compared to hers. Certainly, he needed the immensity of them for clasping heavy hammers and banging on metal, but now they seemed so purposeless, resting quietly on the soft wool.

Why did she always find comfort in holding his hand? She sighed heavily. She didn’t understand anything anymore. She was worried, sick and tired; but mostly tired. Her body’s protest at the practice yard made that clear.

She swung her legs up on to the mattress beside Gendry. If she was going to rest, she was going to do it right. Her mouth hung open wide and long with the enormous yawn that consumed her. _I really need some sleep._ But the dream hung in the back of her mind threateningly. She didn’t want to wake up in hysterics again. Definitely not in the presence of the maester. _Fear cuts deeper than swords._ She leaned back at the comforting phrase, and forced her eyes closed. Within minutes she was drifting to sleep.

When she woke, her mind couldn’t adjust to her surroundings. And then everything came rushing back and she sat up to look out the window. It was covered with a heavy cloth so the sun wasn’t visible. The maester remained at his desk, hunched over.

“What time is it?” Her voice was rough with sleep.

Without looking at her, he replied, “It is nighttime, my lady.” He turned in his chair, “You missed supper. But I’m glad you found comfort enough to sleep.”

Her shoulders and back ached from the awkward sleeping position, but she felt rested. She slept through the whole day. _Thank the gods I didn’t have that dream again._ She moved the fingers that were still under Gendry’s. The heat from his hand caused sticky sweat to cling to her skin. She rubbed her face with her other hand. _Just wake up already._ She was partly nervous and excited for him to wake, but she wanted him to wake as Gendry; not as the weak, wary man he was before.

She heard the door creak open and her Uncle Brynden strode in. She ripped her hand from beneath Gendry’s. She didn’t know why she felt the need to hide something as silly as that from her Uncle. He looked surprised to see her as he walked to the cot.

“Arya, what are you doing here?”

“I’m just visiting. I wanted to see if anything changed.” She replied, standing and stretching her bunched muscles.

“She fell asleep and slept through most of the day, my lord.” Maester Vyman put in, as he walked and bowed in front of the Blackfish. Her uncle’s expression changed from worried to amused, and he smiled like he knew something she didn’t.  

“Are you feeling better? You surely look better, my lady.” He touched her cheek while sustaining that ominous smirk.

“I’m fine. I didn’t sleep well when I went to bed earlier so when I came here, the darkness and warmth put me to sleep.” She shrugged and turned to sit back in the wooden chair. She knew her uncle cared about her and she was growing to feel the same, but she tried to keep her distance. Anyone close to her has always been hurt. She wouldn’t let that happen anymore if she could help it.

Lord Tully’s smile faded and he turned to the maester, “What of the boy? Is there any improvement?” She wondered why he seemed so concerned. She was glad, but confused. Gendry was lucky to even get proper treatment for his lowborn background.

“I have no reason to say whether he is improving or getting worse. His fever is the same and the fluid in his chest hasn’t changed.” He looked to Gendry, “I think I will leech him again. At least until he wakes.”  She frowned at the thought of Gendry’s reaction to the leeches before. She wanted to argue against it but she knew it would help remove the sickness.

“Do what needs to be done.” Brynden replied turning toward Arya, “Come my lady, it is time for bed.” She would have gotten angry for the way he talked to her like she was a child, but her weariness took overruled that reaction. Despite the very long nap, she still felt tired; exhausted, really. She nodded and stood, swaying slightly. Both men looked at her with concern.

She rolled her eyes, “Let’s go then.” Her Uncle took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. They nodded their farewells and headed into the corridor. She silently prayed for Gendry to wake as they walked out into the courtyard.

“Arya, I know you don’t want to hear it, but you need to rest. You were unconscious for four days, of which you didn’t eat or drink… I heard what happened at the training yard.” He glanced at her through gray eyelashes.

She sighed exasperated, “I’m _fine_. That was when I barely had any sleep. I’m feeling much better now.” Her throbbing head and queasy stomach reminded her of her lie, but after much practice in Braavos, she could’ve told him she was a purple octopus and he would’ve believed her.

“Even so, I don’t want you in the training yard until I think you’re well enough.” He held up his hand as she began to protest, “I don’t want anything to happen to you Arya. You’re the last of my family and I will make sure nothing ill befalls you.” He had stopped walking and was holding her shoulders. It always made her feel uncomfortable when he talked like this. She didn’t like the feelings that rose when he talked about the loss of their family. She knew he meant well and cared about her but she has never wanted or tried to talk about her family with anyone. She never had anyone to talk about it with.

Trying to appease him she replied, “I know, Uncle. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.” She smiled hoping to move on. He must have sensed it because he smiled sadly, his soft eyes forcing her to think of her father once again.

He guided them toward her tower, “Besides, if you want to continue being a ranger and not a proper lady, you will obey my wishes.” He grinned at her fuming expression. “That’s the only way I can make sure you do as I say.” His chuckle echoed off the stone walls. She rolled her eyes and looked up at the dark sky. Clouds were nonexistent as the stars shone brightly and the moon was glaring so much that she felt like shading her eyes.

“Why are you helping Gendry?” The question slipped out and she realized how blunt it sounded. The thought has been nagging at her and she just couldn’t stop her curiosity any longer.

“He saved your life Arya. He doesn’t deserve to suffer when he has done so much.” He suddenly became very serious. Listening to the fact that Gendry saved her life out loud made the guilt return, heavier than ever.

They walked in silence up the spiral staircase to her chambers. She didn’t know what to say to that and her shoulders were feeling weighed down. They reached her door and the Blackfish sighed, “Arya, Gendry is a good, strong man. He will pull through this sickness. You are lucky to have him as a friend,” He bent and kissed her cheek, “Be as loyal as he is to you,” and headed back down the stairs.

She stood there thinking about what her uncle said. _Be as loyal as he is to you_. Gendry wasn’t loyal to her. If he was, he wouldn’t have stayed with the Brotherhood and left her alone. He saved her life but she didn’t think he did it for her. He did it because he’s stubborn, not because he cared about her.

Cera was there to help her into bed. Her chilled skin made her want under the blankets this time. Cera left and she burrowed deep into the mattress, trying to escape the Blackfish’s words. She fell asleep to a whirlwind of accusing voices, yelling, shouting, crying at her...


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience! My poor computer has been out of commission for quite awhile, but is now back in business!

_It’s just a dream. Just a dream. A dream._ She punched her pillow in frustration. She had the same dream; killing Freys, the mysterious maester, Gendry’s death, blood red tears…

She threw her legs over the side of the bed and yanked a tunic and trousers on again. It felt like she just got in bed a few minutes ago. The breeze through her window stung the fresh tears on her face. _Why do I have to keep having this dream? I didn’t have it before in the maester’s chambers, so why now?_

She flew down the stairs and debated whether she should go see Gendry again. The maester would force her back to her room and she would surely hear it from her uncle. Knowing him, he would probably confine her to her room and forbid her from going anywhere at all. She headed toward the stables hoping a ride until morning would keep her mind from that dream.

The gates were not heavily guarded and haven’t needed to be since Riverrun’s victory over the Twins. She wasn’t here when it happened, but she heard of her uncle’s victory all across the countryside, even in Saltpans when she returned to Westeros. Her return wasn’t the same as when she arrived in Braavos on Titan’s Daughter. Though, the return gave her the confidence to redeem her honor and claim Arya Stark’s name again. She refused to be a mouse any longer. She was going to return as Arya Stark; not Arry, Weasel, Salty, Cat of the Canals or even Arya Horseface. She was tired of hiding, so when she heard of her Uncle Brynden crushing the Freys and beheading Walder Frey, she knew she needed to be with him.  

But, of course she came across Gendry before she made it to Riverrun. It was a rough reunion, as expected, but she was happy to discover he still had a head on his shoulders. Gendry said the Brotherhood without Banners still existed, but they wandered around more than they did before. Gendry was all too eager to come with her when she mentioned where she was going. She reminded him of his previous arguments from five years ago when he first told her how the Brotherhood could give him a “family.” _Idiot._ She knew he revealed their empty camaraderie and false hope, and that was enough for her.

It was like there were only a few days since they were last united. Gendry was still same old, stubborn, bull-headed Gendry. She was used to being alone but his company was a nice change. She didn’t like to be a lone wolf but her curse of abandonment left her no choice.

She rode along the Red Fork River inviting the watery spray to sprinkle her skin. It wasn’t warm and salty like Braavos, but it made a nostalgic smile emerge. She needed this freedom from the castle. A wolf isn’t meant to be locked up in a tower. Her horse seemed to be enjoying their ride as well, possibly taking in her positive energy. She let her mind wander and of course, the ominous maester from her dream kept surfacing. She slowed the horse to a trot and thought back to the emerald mist that was left as his sneering face dissipated. Why green? The dagger in her dream was green and silver but she wasn’t even sure if the real dagger was the same. The Freys’ colors were blue and grey so that didn’t connect. She rubbed her face trying to milk the meaning of her dream out of her confused mind.

Another part of her dream sprang to the surface, unwanted. Why did she cry blood? The Kindly Man always told her that dreams were important and analyzing them would prove useful for the dreamer. Perhaps the blood represented Gendry’s death. But he wasn’t dead, it was only a dream. That part of her dream was too deep for her to understand. But the dagger could mean something.

The sun peeked over the hills of the Riverlands at her, spilling shy orange rays on the damp trees. She must have been out riding for the majority of the night. Her body still felt stiff with weariness, but better overall. It took her a long time to ride back to the triangular castle. She patted her horse and headed up to the maester’s chambers, the image of the dagger still lingering in her thoughts.

“My lady, good to see you.” Maester Vyman bowed.

“Hello, maester. This may be strange of me to ask, but can I see the dagger that poisoned me?” She didn’t feel like having small talk right now. She wanted to interpret her dream so it could cease its torment.

He studied her momentarily and walked to his desk waving her over. He took a large jar from one of his shelves and unscrewed the lid painfully slow. The jar was cloudy so she wasn’t even sure what to expect. He tipped the jar and the dagger clanged onto his desk with a ghostly powder coating the blade.

“Why is it all powdery?” The chalky substance covered the handle enough that she couldn’t see if it was silver.

“This is a neutralizing remedy for the poison that is on the blade. Wolf’s bane cannot be wiped or washed clean. It is too dangerous to handle in such a way.” He paused and studied the weapon, “I think it should be fine to touch if you wish to examine it. I believe the powder has done its work.”

She reached for it eagerly, the powder clinging to her fingers as she lifted it. The weight of the metal was strange in her hand. Suddenly, a tinge of fear slashed at her mind and she wanted to drop it. This is what almost killed her and she’s holding it as if it could do no more harm. _Fear cuts deeper than swords._ She swept her thumb across the hilt revealing a shimmer of silver playing across the design in the metal. She rubbed the white dust from the decorative piece that jutted out at the bottom of the hilt. A vibrant green burst brightly from beneath the grimey cloak. Her breath caught in her throat. _It’s the same._

Without looking up and giving away her shocked expression, she asked, “What house has the colors green and silver?” She recalled her teachings in Winterfell and the only house she could associate the colors with was House Botley. But they were from the Iron Islands of which she had absolutely no connection with.

The maester cleared his throat, “Well, my lady, there’s House Botley with silver fish on a pale green field. They are lords of Lordsport on Pyke and no one of concern.” He trailed off quietly. She could feel his curious, grey eyes on her. She had to figure this out but she didn’t want the maester’s help. She would talk to her uncle about it soon.

She lifted her eyes to his, setting the dagger back on his desk, “I was just curious. Thank you for your help.” To change the subject, she turned toward an unmoved Gendry, “Has there been any change?”

They walked to the bed and looked on at his ashen figure with concern. “His fever and other symptoms are the same. He will probably be waking up soon.” His cheekbones seemed a bit more sunken in and it was darker around his eyes. She prayed that didn’t mean he was slowly turning into a bony corpse.

The maester cleared his throat as if to gain her attention, “My lady, do you think you could stay with him for a while? I have run low on my supplies and could use much of it to his benefit.” He paused and quickly added, “I’m sorry, it was improper of me to ask such-“

“I’ll stay. You’ve been by his side for almost three days. I would have gone insane by now.” She felt she owed the old man something for attempting to heal Gendry. A wave of guilt overtook her as she thought back at how suspicious she was of him.

Maester Vyman nodded, “Thank you, my lady. I won’t be gone for long. I just need to visit my supplier and a few regular patients. I expect to return this evening.” He turned and snatched a leather satchel from his chair, “If he wakes, there is dream wine over here. Give him water before you send him back to sleep.” He saw her doubtful look, “Do not worry, my lady. I believe he won’t give you much trouble and I am not far away.” He gave her a reassuring smile and left.

She let out a great puff of air. _Why did I agree to this? I don’t know how to take care of sick people._ For once she hoped for Gendry not to wake. “It’s just you and me.” She whispered down to him. She noticed a bowl of water sitting on a stool beside the cot. She looked back at Gendry’s sweaty skin. “Well, I guess if I’m going to take care of you, I’ll do it right.” She shook her head at her silly commentary. _I’m going crazy after just a few minutes._

She dipped her fingers into the cool water and pulled the cloth out, wringing it with a loud splash. Her hand naturally started at his face, dabbing lightly. She had never done this before but she had watched her mother and maesters do it. She bent to push his hair back, her fingers combing through it. It was soft despite the thickness that tangled around her knuckles. She wiped the cloth across his forehead and down the side of his face to his neck. She stopped suddenly, staring at his face. His nose was long and straight, matching his tall cheekbones. He was definitely the kind of man her sister, Sansa, would swoon over. His jaw was sharp and angular beneath the dark stubble that dusted his sun-tanned skin. Sansa would surely gush over his eyes as well. Arya could picture them the way they always were; blue, vibrant, intense. When he laughed, they would grow so bright, it was hard for her to say if they were blue anymore. She frowned at the thought. If he died, she wouldn’t be able to guess what color his eyes really turned when he laughed. Her thumb was resting on his neck and she could feel a slight nudge from his pulse. It was weak but it was there.

“You have to wake up Gendry. _Please._ ” She whispered, struggling to keep her emotions at bay. His lips came together and then apart, back to their original position with a long exhale. She leaned closer, staring at his lips, hoping for a sign of consciousness. Then her stomach gave a lurch and she realized where her hands were and the proximity of their bodies. She wrenched her hands free and jumped back as if he were a blazing fire. If he had woken up, it would’ve looked like she was going to kiss him. _Gods, what’s wrong with me?_ Even if he did wake up, he wouldn’t want her to kiss him. He wouldn’t want a horse-faced girl like her. Besides, boys are stupid. And girls are stupid. She was a wolf. She rolled her eyes and forced the absurdity away. She finished dabbing cold water on his skin, trying her best to smother the fever heating the cloth.

After she finished, she sat in her usual chair and looked at him nervously. What if he woke up coughing? And there was blood again… _Fear cuts deeper than swords._ She wiped her sweaty hands on her pants. Again, there was that overwhelming instinct of wanting to touch him. It must be some kind of protective instinct. She took his hand anyway, curling her fingers over his. They felt like the rest of his skin, clammy sweat sticking to her. His hand felt stiff and gaunt as she shifted her fingers. _Please don’t die._

She gazed at his face, willing him to open his eyes. She felt like she had to do something more. Maester Vyman didn’t just sit in here staring at him all the time. She knew he made medicines and researched things but that wasn’t something she was going to do. She squeezed her eyes closed, thinking hard about what she could do. And then she remembered when she told him the story about the ice dragon. He seemed interested and it made him relax.

She sat up straight and thought deeply about the stories Old Nan would tell. “How about… Symeon Star Eyes!” She smiled thinking about how badly she wanted to be a fighter like him when she was younger. Her smile grew when another thought came up, “I bet you didn’t know that I was blind for a little bit. The Kindly man, the one that trained me in Braavos, gave me milk one night and then when I woke up, I was blind!” She didn’t feel silly talking out loud anymore. She felt like he was alert and listening. For all she knew, he was.

She talked for what felt like hours about Braavos and when she was blind. Her story went in the direction of how she got her sight back and that it was redeemed when she was able to dodge the Kindly man’s strike. She was hesitant to tell him about how she could see the old man attempting to hit her through the eyes of a cat, but she did anyway. She half-heartedly hoped he was able to hear her. As she talked about Braavos, she could feel the happiness swelling up inside her chest. Braavos was like a second home to her, next to Winterfell. Her heart still longed to be in Winterfell again but the traitor, Bolton, who conspired with the Lannisters to kill Robb and her mother, held it. She realized her mouth was still moving, spewing more about her time at the House of Black and White.

She mentioned the waif girl and how irritating she was when she was teaching her Braavosi, “I think you would like her. She annoyed me as much as you do.” She laughed and nudged his leg with their joined hands. His hand closed tighter around hers, startling her. “Gendry? Are you awake?” she gasped. His eyes remained closed and there was no more movement, other than his slowly rising chest. She studied his face, chewing her lip. There was nothing.

She slouched against the back of the chair. _Wake up already._ A yawn caught her off guard but she pushed it away. She can’t fall asleep now. She’s supposed to be taking care of Gendry. She leaned forward and propped her head on her other palm. What if he did wake up? What would he say first? The maester said he wouldn’t be competent enough to know what was happening. She looked down at their hands. What would he say if he knew she was the one holding _his_ hand? He was the one who kept grabbing her hands first. _She_ was the one who should be asking the questions: Why did he save her life if he was willing to leave her so easily for the Brotherhood without Banners? Her eyes drooped heavily. Why was he so calm for her after all those men were restraining him? Their hands were fading away. Why was he concerned about her health when he should have been worrying about himself? Her head helplessly slid from her hand. Why did he act like he cared? Darkness engulfed her wandering thoughts.

She felt warmth before she opened her eyes. It was like her skin was responding to her consciousness before anything else. Heat encompassed her hands and face, like a hot summer breeze. She was comfortable and didn’t want it to end. She didn’t want to open her eyes and remember her worries. But then Gendry’s face floated into view and it unpleasantly shook her awake.

She stared at the wool blanket, feeling the skin of Gendry’s arm on her cheek. She sat up quickly, regretting the decision as her neck contracted into a cramp. She rubbed her muscles and realized the light of day fading behind the draped window. The maester hadn’t returned yet and Gendry was still asleep. She felt ashamed for falling asleep when she was supposed to be taking care of him. She reached forward to place her palm on his forehead and discovered that his fever wasn’t as scorching as before. His skin wasn’t shiny and his hands weren’t clammy, but ice cold. She smiled and pulled the blanket up around his shoulders, tucking it around him. She felt a little disappointed that she couldn’t hold his hand but that gave her a reason to get up and stretch. She walked to the maester’s desk and remembered the dagger.

She picked it up again, this time with more hesitation, fingering the powder that still coated the blade. She held the dagger by the handle and raised the pommel to her eyes. The green stone reflected the candlelight creating a mirror-like appearance. She tilted it slightly and suddenly she felt like she was gazing into an emerald sea. She could see through the gem and there were white lines bunched together throughout the flesh of the jewel. She squinted and the lines connected as she rotated the dagger; a bird. She moved the dagger from her face and screwed her face up. _A bird?_ The door creaked open and she twirled around to the maester walking toward her.   

“How did it go, my lady?” He smiled at her as he emptied his satchel on to his desk. A variety of small cloth bags and glass bottles clanged on to the wood. She immediately set the dagger back where it was before.

“He didn’t wake up, but I think his fever is getting better.”

Maester Vyman looked startled, “Really?” He walked to Gendry’s bed and placed his hand on his head as she had done. “By the gods, you’re right!” He seemed much happier now than he was earlier, before he left. Getting out of this chamber must have done him some good. “He should be waking up any time now. My lady, I have something for you since you did me a great favor by staying here.” He shuffled to his desk, rummaged around in the pile of articles that were strewn everywhere, and produced a small object. He held his hand out and in the middle of his palm was a silver wolf pin. She picked it up and ran her thumb across the delicate details of the fur.

It was quite lovely and very well made. “Thank you maester, but you didn’t have to do that.” She looked up from the trinket and saw his beaming smile.

“No problem, my lady. I saw it and thought you would enjoy the sight of a wolf whenever you wished. I know it isn’t a real wolf but I heard you had a pet direwolf of your own when you were younger.”

“Nymeria. Her name was Nymeria. Thank you, Maester Vyman.” She felt that his gesture was more than enough to convince her he was one of the good maesters. She hadn’t received a gift like this in a long time so it made her feel happy. Her stomach’s loud grumble interrupted her thoughts so she pinned it on her tunic, right above her left breast.

“Maester, I’m going to head down for something to eat now. If he wakes up, please let me know.” She nodded toward Gendry and looked back at him. He smiled widely and shooed her out the door. She took one last glimpse of Gendry and smiled. _You aren’t going to die. Not today._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooooo you guys ready for a Gendry chapter??!!?


	11. Chapter 11

It was the same dream; a misty, strange dream. He remembered seeing his mother, her blonde hair swirling all around her as if it were dancing to the sound of the music that floated melodically from her pink lips. But then Arya was there too, only she was dancing around and around, keeping beat with his mother’s song. Her bare feet stomped the ground and brought up clouds of dust that clung to her skin and trousers. He remembered thinking how completely opposite Arya and his mother seemed. His mother’s pure, white flesh shined brightly within the fog, her tattered skirts hugging her hips. Arya’s skin was dirty, making it easy to see her through the haze. Her silhouette was bold against the colorless atmosphere, making the happiness radiating from her face apparent.

It was fascinating for him to see her so carefree and joyful, he couldn’t stop watching her. His mother faded into the background but her voice remained, weaving itself into the fog. Arya started to dance toward him and when she was close enough, he tried reaching out, but his arms didn’t appear. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to see if she was real. He wanted to _feel_ her. But he couldn’t and she continued to dance near him, as if she was teasing him. Her eyes were closed blissfully and her mouth was in a content, crooked smile. It was relieving to see her really smile. He thought that if he could touch her, he would dance with her. He would take her hands and spin her around, see if he could even make her laugh.

But as he thought that, the song changed. His mother’s voice became ominous and unsettling. The mist billowed around Arya, enveloping her in the sinister tune. Her dance slowed and stopped. The wind twisted and pulled her hair up above her head, her clothes flapping in the tornado. She crossed her arms and held her body, tucking her face down into her arms. He wanted to run to her or yell at his mother to stop singing; but he couldn’t.

He tried moving with all his might and eventually, she got closer. Closer and closer until she was near enough to reach out and touch. He saw his hand appear in front of him so he quickly thrust his hand out, reaching behind Arya’s head and attempted to pull her toward him. He couldn’t feel the wind or her hair or her skin, he couldn’t feel anything. His hand passed through her as if he was ghost. Her hand shot up and grabbed his, but this time, he could feel. She clutched tightly, her fingers constricting around to his palm. All he could think was how cold her grasp was when her head snapped up. Liquid ruby streaked her skin, her eyes open wide. They were clouded over, matching the mist that swirled around them. Her face creased in panic, the red streaming over her cheeks, down her neck. “Wake up…” she whispered, her void eyes bore into him, “Wake up, Gendry,” He felt as if someone was suffocating him, the fog filled his lungs, choking him, “You have to wake up Gendry. _Please._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter is intentionally short! >:)


	12. Chapter 12

“Gendry. Can you hear me?” Maester Vyman’s voice sounded tight and worried. He moved his mouth but only a rasp and then coughing. He felt the maester’s hand on his shoulder pulling him sideways and a cloth against his mouth. A metallic taste touched his tongue and all he could see was red. His chest felt like it was going to explode. Racking coughs shook his body like a strong wind to a sapling. They finally let up, almost in time for him to pass out from the effort. He clung to his consciousness, like he was swimming away from a current trying to drag him under the surface. He felt a cold wetness on his face so he heaved his eyelids upward and saw the maester’s wrinkled face.

“Where’s Arya?” He croaked, trying to decide whether the events that happened before he fell asleep were real or a dream. He wanted to believe they were real and Arya was awake and he made it back in time. But it seemed so vague. He could only remember faces, nothing more.

“She is well, son. She will come visit soon.” His voice was soft and soothing. No wonder he was a maester, he was good at calming people. He didn’t want to fall back to sleep yet, not until he was sure Arya was alive.

Maester Vyman rose a cup to his lips. _Dream wine._ “No-.” He felt his heart beat faster. He remembered why he didn’t want to sleep.

The maester shook his head, “It’s water. Rest easy, now.” He had forgotten about water. As he eagerly swallowed a few gulps, his throat ground together like it was lined with rocks. The coldness of the water made his mouth less dry but his shivers became worse. The scratchy wool blanket was tucked around him. _Where’s Arya?_ He just needed to know she was all right. The warmth of the blanket was dragging him under again and the maester simply stood beside him dabbing his neck with a wet cloth. _Stay awake. Stay awake._

Then there was a creak as the door opened and Arya strode in. “Maester, I had another que-,” Their eyes met and relief took over his body. _She was awake._ “Gendry…” Arya mouthed. She was suddenly beside him like he had blinked for too long. It was impossible to read the expression on her face. She looked nervous and relieved and happy at the same time. Arya placed her hand on his arm over the blanket like she was deciding if he was truly there.

The relief of knowing she was awake gave his body the chance to relax and succumb to his tiredness. His eyes slid closed with her grey eyes watching cautiously. He could still feel her fingers moving along his arm. They were warm through the wool and he didn’t feel as afraid to fall asleep; he wasn’t alone.

But then her presence was gone. He couldn’t determine if it was because he had fallen asleep or she had actually moved away. _Arya, don’t leave me._ And then he could feel her hand again like she had read his mind. _Don’t leave me again._

* * *

 

_Guilty. It was his fault she was stolen. She ran away and he couldn’t help her. The betrayal in her eyes always haunted him. In the forge, on missions with the Brotherhood, anywhere he went. He thought they could be his family but he was stupid. They were the same as all men; greedy and selfish. Arya was there when he needed her but she disappeared and left him. It was his fault. He deserved to be alone, but Arya didn’t. She lost everyone she loved and he just twisted the dagger a little more in her gut by choosing the Brotherhood over her. He lost her trust and her friendship._

_Arya, I’m so sorry._

Gendry was in darkness but not the blank space that comes with sleep. He was actually there, in the blackness of an enclosed room. He looked around, but his eyes couldn’t adjust. He didn’t know if he was actually in a dream world or in the room they had been keeping him. His face felt hot and he could hear his labored breath. He wanted to move but he felt too exhausted to do more than glance at his surroundings.

His mother’s voice pulled him out of his confusion. She was singing again. Her voice was soft and lovely like he always imagined the way she would look. He only ever remembered her yellow hair and voice, since she had died when he was too young of an age to retain a solid image. He let her song wash over his body like a refreshing spring breeze. He closed his eyes and smiled. He wished she could be with him and he could feel her gentle touch. He felt a tear slip from his eye as her memory coaxed his emotions from his chest.

Gendry’s mother loved him and did what she could as an alehouse worker. He remembered the way she would stroke his hair and sing to him as he fell asleep in his scratchy straw bed. It was like he could feel her now. He could feel the tears coursing down his cheeks more heavily and he longed to see her face and feel her comforting warmth and to finally feel safe again. The pain in his muscles and throat faded as he let the wistful music embrace his body. He felt peaceful and happy for the first time in so long. He could die this way. He would be happy to die right then.

Her tone became stronger and he could feel being lifted from the lumpy bed. He wanted to open his eyes and see his mother’s face but he was too afraid of losing the relief he gained from her music. He wanted to let go of everything and not be afraid or alone anymore. He continued to float upward away from his pain.

“Wake up _.”_ Someone whispered urgently. _No, I want to go._

“Gendry, please wake up.” _I want to go with my mother. Leave me alone._ His mother’s voice continued.

“Don’t die Gendry!” He felt a hand around his wrist and he stopped. _What are you doing? I want to die._ His mother’s song wavered.

“Gendry! Please!” Arya’s voice rang through clear and painful. His illness hit him full force like he belly-flopped from a mile above a lake of agony and misery. His mother disappeared and Arya took her place. He didn’t have time to miss her but he yearned to comfort Arya. He could feel the panic and fear emanating from her words, her hands, her breath on his cheek.

“Please Gendry! Wake up!”

“I’m awake.” He breathed in return. His arms and legs trembled with exhaustion and his fists tangled in the cotton sheet. His lungs were on fire and his tongue tasted tangy and too wet. 

He heard a shaky sigh and then speaking. He didn’t recognize the men’s voices through his panting, so he focused on Arya’s. “What will happen now?” She sounded as tired as he felt. Her voice was rough with worry. _I’m all right, now. I won’t leave if you don’t._

  “Gendry, you need to drink this.” He felt metal against his lips so he nodded slightly and welcomed the warm, sweet liquid into his swollen throat. Its effects took over almost immediately. His mind became numb, dulling the torment of his body. He was aware of movement beside him and a mouth next to his ear.

“Live, Gendry.” _I will for you m’lady._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're enjoying this story, please tell me what you think. I really appreciate feedback of any kind, considering this is my first published fanfiction. :)


	13. Chapter 13

Gendry slept in a dreamless, peaceful slumber for an impossibly long time. However, he was painfully aware of his sickness whittling away at his body. His muscles ached with neglect and his skin burned with fever. He thought he would never wake, and if he did there wouldn’t be anything left of his body.

                Soon, voices began to break into his conscience. There was the maester, Arya, and Lord Tully. He mostly heard Arya speaking separately but not to anyone in particular. She spoke of Braavos and titans and sight-stealing milk and chambers of faces. And then he would feel warmth along his arm. He didn’t know if she ever left his side. It was a comforting and confusing thought. He never would have expected Arya to be the kind of person to believe presence could affect someone’s health. In a way, he wanted to believe that was the reason he was improving. He didn’t hear his mother’s voice anymore and he wanted to feel sad, but he knew Arya’s was what was keeping him alive.

                He continued to cling to the sound of her until he woke up. His body felt heavy, like every fiber of his being was being pulled downward like a puppet. The nauseating sweet scent of incense filled his nostrils and the hotness of the room hugged him in a suffocating cloak. Clinking of glasses and scraping of metal touched his ears from somewhere in the room. _Must be Maester Vyman. But where’s Arya?_

                Gendry opened his eyes slowly and cautiously as to not startle anyone if they were nearby. Blinking sleep sand away was quite the effort before even being able to fully adjust to the environment. The wool blanket only covered the bottom half of his body. At first, he was confused about why it wasn’t pulled further up to keep him warm, but small red dips spotted his skin and he understood the reason immediately, his skin crawling. It wasn’t hard to distract himself from the leeching marks as he slowly became shocked by the rest of his body. He almost didn’t recognize it. The paleness and emaciation would have looked more natural on a scrawnier, elderly version of himself. Still astonished by his body’s transformation he overlooked the sleeping figure beside him.

                   Her fingers were tangled among his, her cheek resting on the top of his arm, her dark eyelashes nearly invisible against the bruises beneath her eyes. Her soft breath fluttered through his arm hair, raising goose pimples. Brown strands of hair hung loose across her face, the messy braid draped on her neck. Leaning forward in a chair with her arms resting on the edge of the bed made him squirm with how uncomfortable she seemed.

                _Arya, what are you doing?_ She looked so tired. Why was she doing this to herself? He looked over to where he assumed the maester was working. He opened his mouth and hesitantly whispered, “Maester Vyman.” It came out crackled, but he received a reaction. The maester turned quickly, almost losing grip of the vial he was examining.

                “Gendry?” He shuffled over still holding his experiment. He nodded in response, hoping he would stay quiet enough not to wake Arya. “How do you feel?” The maester asked, placing a chilly hand on his forehead, scrutinizing him.

                It took a few tries to procure his voice but he rasped, “I feel better. At least than I did before.” He remembered waking up the first time and the pain fogging his mind. It still felt as if someone rather large was sitting on his chest, but at least he wasn’t coughing.

                “You need to drink water, right now.” He went to his desk and filled a goblet. “You have been sleeping for close to a week now. You were able to consume water every few days, thankfully. But you haven’t eaten either.” His stomach growled painfully in reply. He drank deeply, cherishing the cool comfort coating his sore throat.

The maester set the cup a side, “I’ll have someone bring some soup.”

“Wait, maester. Why is she sleeping here?” He nodded toward Arya.

He looked down at her pitifully, “She’s been sleeping here more often. She had been going to her chamber at night but she would return a few hours later. I’m concerned for her.” He sighed, “I cannot convince her to do anything I ask.”

He smiled sadly. _Typical Arya._ He hoped she hadn’t been missing out on the comfort of a bed because of him. Maester Vyman walked from the room in search of a servant to bring soup.

He studied Arya’s face again. Why wouldn’t she stay in her own room? There was no way she was worried about him. But then, her voice begging him to wake up echoed in the back of his mind. He frowned. He didn’t even know if anything he remembered was true. It was likely that her touching his arm was real, since she was holding his hand now. His heart doubled its speed. He could feel her skinny fingers linked with his own. He reflexively constricted his hold on her hands.

Gendry looked away ignoring the charge he felt from her touch. He suddenly felt nervous. Ignoring the unexpected closeness and the accompanying feelings, Gendry sighed shakily and looked in the opposite direction toward the maester’s desk. There were glass bottles and little stone bowls strewn across the wooden top. There were several candles throughout the room substituting the cloaked natural light from the window. He was staring at a large, familiar looking jar when a glint of silver caught his eye. He squinted in the direction of the mysterious object when a shimmer of green reflected against the wall. _The dagger._

He heard the chair screech against the floor, a startled gasp and the abrupt absence of Arya. “G-Gendry!” He whipped his head around and regretted it immediately. He winced from the sharp stab in the middle of his forehead. He could see Arya’s horrified expression even through the water gathering in his eyes.

“Where’s the maester? Why isn’t he here? Where did he go?” her voice continued to rise anxiously with each frantic question.

“Arya-,”

She stared wide eyed around the room, her voice trembling, “Where did he _go?_ ”

He groped the distance between them, stretching out as far as his reach allowed. Hoping to stifle her panic, he croaked, “Arya, calm down,” as he still attempted making contact with her. She continued to survey the room, oblivious of his presence. Her chest was rising and falling so quickly, he was afraid she was going to faint. He heaved himself on to his elbow and yanked her hand, “Arya. _Stop._ ” Her head jerked in his direction and he could see fear plaguing her features. Her eyes were bright and her face tight with worry. _Gods, who is this girl?_ He pulled her closer to the bed, his voice grinding through his sore throat, “I’m fine. He just went to get me soup.”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “Why did he leave? You could’ve started coughing again.” She stumbled forward and plopped into the chair. _Was she really that concerned about his coughing?_ He didn’t even remember coughing that much when he woke up before.

Striving to continue his reassurance, Gendry wheezed slightly readying his voice for more use, “I’ve been awake for a while now. He was here earlier but like I said, he just went to get me some soup. I’m starving.” He smiled lightly ignoring the cracking of his voice at the end of each word, trying to ease her previous behavior. She looked back at him, her grey eyes full of distress. For some unexplainable reason, his smile broadened. He hadn’t truly known she was awake and he hadn’t truly seen her since the day she was poisoned. It made him happy to see her conscious and halfway normal. As he continued to look at her, her eyes relaxed and her lips parted in thought. Her hair fell around her face, creating delicate fingers of shadow that caressed the curves of her cheek bones. She was really worried about him and she was taking it out on herself. He could see the exhaustion and stress taking its toll on her body. He didn’t want her to do that anymore.

“Arya, I-.” he started as the door swung open and they both jumped. Arya wrenched her hand from his grip.

“I swear, there are no useful servants around here. Oh, my lady, you’re awake as well.” The maester tottered in carrying a steaming bowl of creamy liquid. The smell hit him almost immediately, triggering a nasty ache in his belly. His arm began to tremble from the weight of leaning so he fell back against his pillows.

“Let’s get some pillows behind you so you can sit up, Gendry.” His neck and back was stiff and sore from lack of movement. He grunted with the effort as they stuffed pillows under him. Arya had her arm firmly against his back, her hair tickling his face. Once he was situated, the maester hesitantly gave him the bowl. “Are you sure you can feed yourself?”

He reached for it confidently, “Of course I can.” He didn’t need to be spoon fed like a child. Between them propping him up and gazing at him with pity, he was beginning to be annoyed by everyone’s fussing. He took the spoon in his fingers and scooped the thick pale liquid. His mouth watered from the thought of the savory soup filling his mouth. As soon as the spoon left the bowl, it tipped sideways. He grimaced at the steaming burn he received on his chest. He glanced at Arya who was attempting to hide a grin. The maester had already left for his desk. He half growled and tried raising the spoon to his lips again. His hand wobbled right before it reached his mouth and it spilled down his chin, into his unkempt scruff.

“Give me the bowl.” Arya laughed, holding her hand out. He glared at her. He didn’t appreciate the mocking tone she gave him.

“No.” He tried again and he reached his mouth but the spoon seared his lips and he cursed.

He could practically hear Arya roll her eyes, “Stop being so stubborn and let me help you.” She tried snatching the bowl from his hands but he jerked it away, sloshing more on to his skin.

“Ouch! I’m not being stubborn!”

“You’re right, you’re being _stupid_. Give me the damn soup.” Her grey eyes bore into him, giving him no room for argument. They stared each other down for a few moments longer and he finally handed the soup over, his shaking hand almost knocking more out of the bowl.

She smiled victoriously and scoffed, “There, now you barely have any more soup to eat. Let’s clean you up first.” She stood and wiped his chest clean. He could sworn her face became slightly redder as she swabbed the soup from his chin. When has she ever been the motherly type?

She sat back in her chair and blew on a spoonful of soup. She held it out for him but he had to lean almost off the bed to retrieve it. He lost the little balance he had and nearly fell out of the bed. She hooked her arm around him and pushed him gently back.

“S-sorry.” He whispered, embarrassed. _I guess I am weaker than I thought._ She was balancing the bowl in one hand and bracing him with the other.

“No, I’ll sit closer. It was my fault.” She sounded as guilty as if she caused him a bigger pain than just losing his balance. She squeezed on to the already too small bed, beside him. She looked at him apologetically and then readied another serving. This time, he only had to open his mouth and she shoveled it in. He watched her in silence. He couldn’t get over the deep, sleepless marks under her eyes. Maybe she was still recovering from the poison.

“Are you feeling better? I mean, since you woke up from the poison?”

Her expression changed completely, “I wish everyone would stop asking me. I’m _fine._ ” She sounded really exasperated. He could almost bet her uncle had something to do with her irritation.

“Then why do you look so tired?”

Her eyes flashed and she continued to feed him but avoided making eye contact, “No reason. It’s just hard for me to sleep in a bed when I’m used to the ground.” He knew she was lying. He could always see right through her.

“Then why don’t you sleep on the ground?” he smirked and she scowled.

“Shut up. My uncle would never let me do that. Also, he’s not letting me train. He has _forbidden_ it.” Her eyes became slits and she forcefully shoved the spoon into his mouth causing it to clang against his teeth.

He rubbed his mouth, grumbling, “Don’t take it out on me.”

Her eyes grew wide and remorseful again. “Sorry.” She mumbled. What was wrong with her? She never would apologize for something so silly. She looked sorrowful, like a sad dog. He regretted saying anything at all. He wanted that pathetic look to go away.

“Did you find out who the dagger belongs to?” he asked hoping to distract her again.

She gave him more soup and shook her head slowly, “I don’t know. Whoever it was, they weren’t a Frey. They were just working with them.” She looked at him thoughtfully.

“Do you think they were targeting you? Or maybe they just happened to have a poisoned dagger with them?”

Arya gave him a blank stare, her words drowning in sarcasm, “Yes, he just happened to be carrying a poisoned weapon because he wanted to.” Then she became quiet, continuing, “Normally, if someone has a prepared weapon they plan to use it.”

She continued to talk about her assumptions as he finished the soup. His body gave up on the consciousness he tried so hard to cling to, as his fever resurfaced. He was still propped up on the pillows when his eyes began to droop closed.

“Wait, don’t fall asleep yet.” He felt Arya lean forward and pull him into a hug. It startled his eyes open. _Was she actually hugging him?_ His chin was resting on her shoulder and she had her arms secure around to his back. She smelled like pine needles and lavender. He knew the lavender was her servants’ doing but the pine was her natural scent.

He wanted to lean into her but she pulled him forward with a huff and he gasped, “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to move these pillows so you can lie down.” She grunted, pushing several pillows on to the floor. He tried supporting himself with his arms but he had no strength so he put his trust in her. He could barely keep his head up, not to mention his whole upper body. As soon as the pillows were gone from behind him he fell backward pulling Arya down with him. She landed on top of him with a puff. She was an inch from his face as she struggled to free her arms from beneath him. Their eyes met and his stomach lurched from the pressure of her body and her breath on his face. He squirmed, trying to help and finally she pushed away, her face flushed and embarrassed.

“Gods, Arya. That was harder than it needed to be.” He laughed weakly. He could feel the blood pumping through his neck. He was getting so worked up over nothing.

“Well, I’m sorry for trying to make you more comfortable.” She whispered defensively. She looked away and tucked her hair behind her ear. Her hand was in a fist beside him on the cot. He felt guilty for making her sad again.

He knew she was going to reject his hand and he was going to feel like a fool, but he slid his hand over hers and murmured, “Thanks, though.”

She glanced at their hands and took a deep breath, “Go to sleep. I need to talk to my uncle.” She stood but he didn’t let go of her hand. She looked back at him in confusion.

He had the strong desire to keep her nearby. “Can you stay until I fall asleep?” He didn’t want her to go. There was still a slight tinge of fear that he wouldn’t wake up and his mother would sing him away again. He hesitated, then, “Could you tell me a story? Like before?”

She looked anxious for a moment, but then softened to his surprise, “Sure. I’ll be here if you need me.”

_Good,_ he thought.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to those who have been checking regularly and others I have left hanging! I am trying to catch up by posting more than one chapter at a time. :)

Anxiety still clenched her belly since the night he almost died. She could still remember his tireless coughing and the blood choking him.

_“He’s giving up.” Maester Vyman whispered. Gendry’s face was wet with tears and sweat, and his fists were tangled in the blankets from his feverish illusions. He whimpered for his mother through the sickness devouring him._

_“Mum.” Was all he breathed and she knew, she knew he gave up. He gave up fighting to live._

_Desperation split her chest and she pleaded one last time, “Please Gendry! Wake up!” She couldn’t explain the feeling that burst through her when he responded and the requests for his mother ceased._

That night has haunted her thoughts even more than the dream of the maester and his dagger. She has refused to sleep in her chamber. She only ever found solace when she was sitting in her chair beside Gendry. Perhaps it was the reassurance of knowing he was alive, lying right beside her. She severely lacked sleep but it didn’t matter. She needed to take care of Gendry and keep him alive.

“ _I won’t leave if you won’t,”_ was what he muttered before falling back to sleep after his episode. She has kept that thought in her mind and has been loyal to it. She was being loyal to him like her uncle told her to be.

The first time he woke was almost like the gods were tricking her because he woke without the lucid illusions and fell back to sleep without the threat of taking his last breath. Every other time he had woken up had traumatized her. And when he was awake and well, she didn’t want to believe it was true. There was too much of a chance of it being a dream and when she really woke, he would be gone. So she panicked when Maester Vyman wasn’t there. She let her fear cut her. And it did hurt worse than a sword. She would rather take several swords through her chest than to relive any of this.

Now she was sitting beside him again, telling another tale of her past. He asked her to stay so she did. She could feel the slight hesitation through his hand when he took hers and she knew he was afraid to fall asleep. She didn’t want him to feel that way anymore so she would do what she could for him.

Looking on at his feverish complexion urged her to take the cloth that was sitting in a bowl beside his bed and gently patted his forehead and cheeks. His hand tightened around her fingers and he sighed. She smiled knowing that she was helping him relax.

She began, “I left from Saltpans on the boat named, _Titan’s Daughter_. I told them my name was Salty, very clever of me if I must say so myself.” She boasted sarcastically, receiving a faint smile from Gendry, “The crew was really nice to me but I helped like I said. I swabbed the deck and rose the sails with the other men. It was hard work but they were kind.” She paused trying to form the next wonder in her story. Her stories made her happy. They made her believe it was real and it really happened. When she became No One, she had to forget everything, give up _everything_ and when she returned to Arya or Salty or Weasel, she had to dig deep in the crevices of her mind to retrieve their experiences.

Then, she knew what was next. “When we entered Braavos, the ship floated beneath the titan. He was _huge_. Bigger than you could ever imagine. His baby toe was bigger than Acorn Hall!” She stopped to close her eyes and try to bring the memory back. “He was made of black stone and bronze. There were even murder holes beneath his armored skirt. They blew a horn from the top of the Titan’s head to signal that a ship was entering Braavos. That man must have had to blow hard in order for anyone to hear him down on the ground,” she added smiling, thinking of the next piece of her tale. “I arrived on the shore and the sailors gave me gifts. There was a silver fork, fingerless gloves and a…” _What was that last thing?_ “Oh! A hat! It was floppy and silly. But they gave me these things so I would remember their names. They knew I would become a faceless man.” Then the fate of her possessions came rushing in like a suffocating wave. “I had to throw them all into the river, though. The Kindly Man said in order to become a faceless man, I had to become No One. And No One didn’t have memories of past lives.” She sighed and completely forgot she was even telling this story to Gendry. She peeked at him cautiously. His eyes were closed and his mouth slightly ajar. He was breathing softly still clutching her hand.   

She sat for a while longer to be sure he was asleep before slipping her hand out from his and sneaking from the room.

The cool hallway gave her more opportunity to wake up and shake off the warmth and distraction of Gendry’s room. She rarely left that place nowadays, only ever for a brief ride on her mare. Though, now she had a purpose and the guilt of leaving Gendry alone wasn’t as pressuring since his most recent display of improvement. She needed to speak to her uncle about the dagger. She had been too busy worrying about Gendry in the last week to think more about the culprit behind her poisoning. The maester didn’t know what house had green and silver as their colors and she couldn’t think of anyone that was relevant. Perhaps her uncle would be helpful.

The Lord of Riverrun was in the council room hunched over a pile of parchment. Her quiet footsteps went unnoticed as she crept up behind him. A crisp piece of parchment stood out proudly, catching her eye as she read: _“Treaty of the Vale.”_

The Lord Tully jumped and shoved the paper under the pile. “Arya! What are you doing here?” He turned in his chair with his hand on his chest.

“I was just wondering if I could ask you a question.” She said tentatively. His reaction made her suspicious of that document.

He sighed, “Well then ask it, my lady. I have work to do.” Suddenly she didn’t feel comfortable asking him about the dagger. She had begun to trust him more, but right then her instincts were drawing back like a deer in a wolf’s den.

“Gendry woke up.” She didn’t want to ask him. Not until she was sure she could get a straight answer.

Her uncle’s eyes snapped to hers with concern, “How is he?” He spoke softly as if he was trying to measure something.

“He’s fine. He ate some soup and went back to sleep.” She knew her Uncle Brynden worried about her, especially since the night Gendry almost died. It was like he was aware of the anxiety and guilt eat her up.

“Great! I’ll have to come visit him the next time he wakes.” He smiled, but then let it fade. “Arya, what was that question?”

She wanted to ask but something wasn’t right. “It can wait until you’re done with your work. It wasn’t important.” She knew he was going to object so she turned quickly and waved, “I’ll see you later, Uncle.” She heard him try and stand from the table but she was already out of the room and heading outside. The cool air hit her face and she breathed it in. _Why did the guilt already inside her get heavier?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! You're all da bomb. <3


	15. Chapter 15

The next week went by similarly to what it was before only Gendry was awake every day. It wasn’t for very long but it was better than when he stayed asleep. It slightly relieved her to see him function and speak, but there was no stopping her worry. She had tried to sleep in her bed a couple of times but she would only wake to the lingering reminder of bloody tears and a mournful sadness. She decided she wouldn’t sleep until she could understand her dream. She told herself this but she always ended up falling asleep beside Gendry. And then she would wake up with him looking at her with confusion.

She evaded her uncle even more than sleep. She wished she hadn’t even mentioned a question to him because now he was having others find her and send her his way. The Blackfish was strangely more busy than normal and she hadn’t actually seen him face-to-face since the day she attempted to ask about the dagger.

Then, there was the stress of everything else. It was gnawing away at her sanity like a rabbit to a cabbage. She was beginning to see her father and mother in the faces of the common people in between her tower and the maester’s. She spent the majority of her time in the maester’s chamber with Gendry, but would occasionally be pestered by the two of them to return to her own chambers and sleep. She would comply, but unbeknownst to them, she would only return to bathe and then leave for a ride outside the walls. There, she would block her concerns behind a makeshift dam, come back to Riverrun refreshed, and then experience a flood of maddening thoughts without warning.

She was sitting in the chair beside Gendry with his hand in hers. She had just returned from a breezy gallop with her horse along the Trident. Gendry was sleeping soundly, his chest rising and falling. He had gained some color back in his skin but he was still ill enough to cough up blood and send her into a panic. She didn’t believe he was getting any better but the maester insisted that the blood he coughed was a good sign. She shook her head silently. _He isn’t getting better because of me. The curse is feeding on him._

She needed to leave from Riverrun but she needed to know whose dagger almost killed her. As much as she told herself that was the reason she hadn’t left yet, the more she knew it wasn’t. She had become too comfortable here, too close to the people that lived here. The place where her heart used to be, started to throb, craving the feelings she denied. She sighed, exasperated.

Gendry’s voice snapped her out of her spinning thoughts. She glanced at him expecting his blue eyes looking back, but his eyelids remained closed. His head flopped on his pillow and he mumbled again. His dreams would sometimes cause him to move restlessly and mutter incoherently but they would eventually pass and he would fall back into a deep slumber. She watched him silently, patiently. His hand twitched in hers and his eyebrows pulled together broodingly. His movements became more persistent and his breathing increased rapidly. _This was a different dream._

She began to panic slightly so she called urgently, “Maester Vyman, his dream is getting worse.”

The old man shuffled to the bed and placed a hand on Gendry’s feverish forehead. “His fever will break soon. He’ll just have to suffer through this one.” He glimpsed the alarm on her face and added, “Speaking to him might help him get through the terrors of his mind.” He turned purposefully and walked back to his work space.

She swallowed nervously as Gendry’s body convulsed and he whimpered. She felt so badly for him. She wished she knew what the dream could be about to make him so restless and distraught. Her hand tightened around his cold fingers and she moved from the chair to the bed, sitting beside him as she had before. She leaned forward, willing her voice to be strong, “Gendry. Everything will be all right.”

His grimace deepened and he murmured, “No.” She didn’t know what to say after that, so she just rubbed his quivering hand.  _He can even tell how useless I am when he’s sleeping._ She looked on at his shuddering figure, ashamed. His mouth was moving wordless, only allowing gasps to escape. His jaw suddenly clenched and he startled her as he all at once opened his eyes and shouted, “No!”

He was gazing blankly at the ceiling and for a moment she thought he could be sleeping with his eyes open. She was still trying to steady her own breath when she whispered, “Gendry?”

He slowly turned his head to look at her with wide, scared orbs of blue. “Arya?” His voice cracked along with her fortitude. Torment masked his voice and she was thrown back during the peak of his sickness. “Don’t leave me, Arya. Don’t-,” He choked on his words and sat up reaching for her. She didn’t know if she should let him touch her, but she made no move to avoid him. She felt that even if she wanted to, she couldn’t. He wrapped his arms around her body and buried his face in her neck. His tears soaked her skin, though he made no other sound. The wall inside her began to crumble. She didn’t know his sadness could affect her so severely. _He doesn’t care about me. Why does he find comfort with me?_  

“Mother is going to take me if you leave. She will…” His words were slurred together and she could barely understand him. The dream must still be lingering in his consciousness. He probably didn’t even know he was hugging her. For all she knew, he thought she was his mother.

Maester Vyman had appeared at the bed again and was staring at Gendry with pity in his eyes. She opened her mouth to ask for help but he spoke quietly, nearly inaudible, “He’s having a night terror. I’ve seen this before in children. Never in adults…” He trailed off taking a step back. That action created a slight uneasiness that made her want to move away from Gendry. He continued to murmur words about his mother as his large arms consumed her small form.

“What’s a night terror? Is he awake? What do I do?” She was whispering urgently.

“He isn’t awake. It seems as though he is, but he is still present in his dream.” He paused taking another step back, “People who have night terrors can become violent, especially if someone in their dream is threatening.” Gendry constricted his arms even tighter. “He seems to be protecting you though, my lady. Comfort him and he will eventually fall back to sleep. I however, am another person in the room that could become the enemy in his mind. I will stay over here and assist you if it’s needed.” He backed all the way to his desk and left her with a large trembling Gendry.

“Stop singing. Please.” His voice sounded so broken. He breathed on her neck and it sent cold fingers down her back. If he was dreaming about his mother again, then she would have to try her best to calm him. She took her arms and hesitantly brought them around to his back. The skin was sticky with sweat but she embraced him firmly.

“Gendry, your mother… won’t take you.” She felt strange talking to him like this. He was always strong and fearless. But she thought the same of herself before she had that wretched dagger dream. Dreams revealed the evils of the mind and degraded the owner to their most vulnerable state. This was what was happening to Gendry and this is what happens to her when she is tossed into the turmoil of the dagger dream. She felt so alone and scared when she woke from it, she couldn’t imagine what she could feel if it happened with her fully conscious. Gendry shook all over and clung to her like a frightened child. As much as she wanted to deny it, she believed she would be the same if she had a night terror. Her grip felt more like a defense now; a wolf protecting her pack member.

“Arya, help me.” He begged nuzzling further into her. He was pressed against her and she realized she had not been that close to anyone since she was actively loved by her family. Suddenly she felt a thirst for his touch. Normally, contact was not a need for her. She set her chin in between his shoulder and head completing their hug. He smelled like sweat and fear.

“I’m right here, Gendry. Just-,” she lowered her voice, “hold on to me and I won’t leave.” His hand moved to her lower back and the strength of his long fingers pressing on her spine held her close. Along her neck, the curve of his nose and forehead pressed neatly against her skin, wetness from his eyes clung innocently.

Eventually, his breathing slowed and his grasp wasn’t as desperate. The maester helped her lay him gently against the pillows. Tears remained on her flesh, as well as in his eyelashes. She exhaled unsteadily and stood feeling her throat become sore.

“I’ll be back later, maester.”

“Of course, my lady.” He watched her leave and shut the door behind her. _I’m causing him so much torment. I’m killing him in so many ways._ She slid down the stone wall outside the room. Her hand clutched the front of her tunic, her nails digging into the leather. Her breath wouldn’t come until a sob filled the empty stairwell, startling her. _I’m so selfish._


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a longer chapter for you all! I quite liked writing this one.

When Gendry woke again, he didn’t remember what happened. Maester Vyman explained what happened during the night terror. Gendry responded with red ears and an awkward, “I’m sorry, m’lady.” She couldn’t take the uncomfortable environment any longer so she nonchalantly scolded him for not sleeping enough and causing himself to have stressful nightmares. Both men stared at her in disbelief, though Gendry caught on to her intention and snapped back into their usual bickering. It made her glad to talk normally again.

Gendry was definitely beginning to become himself but he had days that were worse than others. Some days he wouldn’t even wake and she would sit in agonizing silence. She would eventually fall asleep or begin telling him another story just to save her sanity. She feared he would have the dreams again and his life would be threatened. She always had an unsettling throb lurking in her chest.

Days passed and Gendry improved but continued to cough up blood. It felt like she was losing a layer of composure each time she spotted blood smeared across his teeth. She knew what she had to do to make it end but she had unfinished business with her uncle. Unfinished business she continuously delayed.

A week after the night terror incident, Maester Vyman decided Gendry was well enough to be moved back to his own chamber. The Blackfish was informed and offered to help move him. The maester had Gendry stand and walk around the chamber with the help of her shoulder throughout the week to rebuild his strength. Often times it would end with a fit of coughs.

Gendry had been complaining about having to stay in the maester’s chamber and never seeing light ever since he woke up. She knew he was getting bored and was losing his patience with his dependence on others. When they would talk he would talk about the projects he was working on in the smith before all of this happened. He had been working on several swords her uncle requested and then another helmet like the bull one he made in King’s Landing. His eyes lit up just talking about the details of each part of it. She remembered watching him work at Harrenhal. The hammer in his hand seemed like an extension of his arm; a part of him. One day she would ask him to craft her a sword. But then the dagger shimmered ominously from the desk and reminded her of her plans.

The maester helped Gendry take a bath and dress in a simple pair of trousers and a white cotton shirt. He still had trouble keeping his balance in some situations but he was able to walk on his own. Her uncle entered the maester’s chamber and eyed her expectantly. She knew he was going to make her ask him today whether she wanted to or not.

“Can we go now?” Gendry was practically jumping up and down.

She couldn’t help but laugh at his childish demeanor, “Calm down, little boy.”

He narrowed his eyes at her and stuck out his tongue, “I’ve been in here long enough to forget what the sun looks like. Is it black like this room? Or perhaps green or purple or -.”

Maester Vyman cut his sarcastic rant short with a demanding voice, “You two will bring him directly to his room. I will meet you there in case his coughing starts again.” The stare directed at Gendry could have pierced the thickest of steel, “Straight there.” Gendry rolled his eyes. He had asked the maester if he could go to the forge just to be sure no one had stolen anything, only to be immediately turned down.

As they all tried to hide their snickering, the maester slung a bag over his shoulder and walked out the door purposefully. Gendry stood quickly, losing his balance and catching himself on her shoulder. She put her arm around his waist for extra support. She didn’t plan on letting him walk without any help the whole way so she spoke firmly, “Let’s go,” and led him toward the door.

“I can walk by myself, Arya.” He said stubbornly trying to wiggle out of her grasp.

“Have you walked down stairs by yourself yet? No. I’m sure getting over your sickness will be much easier while also nursing a broken neck.” She snapped, watching his eyes roll.

Lord Tully followed closely beside Gendry with a hand on his upper arm. “I’m sorry I haven’t been over to see you Gendry. I have no doubt you have been taken care of,” he glanced at Arya, “I’ve been quite busy with my lordly duties of late.” He said that as if someone was forcing him to sit in the council room and sign papers all day.

“I don’t expect you to worry about me, my lord. There’s no need for anyone to be worrying or visiting me. I’m no one special.” He was looking down at the stone steps, carefully watching where he was placing his feet.

“Everyone is important. Besides, you are Arya’s friend. That makes you quite important.” Gendry continued to look downward. She wished she knew what he was thinking. When they were at Acorn Hall, he bitterly compared his lowborn status to her own and at the time, she thought he was acting stupid. But now looking back at it, she realized how worthless he must have felt, especially with the Brotherhood’s overbearing protection of her. She didn’t think about how deep they drew the line between herself and Gendry. _I was such a naïve child then._

“It’s a lot warmer today than it has been.” She mentioned, hoping to break the silence and her sophisticating thoughts.

Gendry looked at her sideways, “Really? Maester Vyman said it was colder than normal.” His foot slipped on the step and he stumbled pulling her close. The Blackfish ducked under his arm and pulled him back up. Gendry grimaced and took a deep breath. “Sorry about that. I have no balance if I don’t watch my feet.” He looked so ashamed.

“It’s fine.” She and her uncle said simultaneously.

The Blackfish grinned and asked, “So what was that question you were wondering about, my lady?” Gendry looked at her from the corner of his eyes. She had told Gendry about the whole situation and he didn’t understand why she was holding back. She hoped she could trust him not to say anything because she explained how uncomfortable she felt the first time she tried asking.

The stairs were ending and they would soon be outside so she quickly stalled, “I’ll ask you later, uncle.” He made a dissatisfied sound deep in his throat.

Gendry spoke up before the Lord of Riverrun could counter her, “She will have to take you back over here when you get me to my chamber. Then she can ask you.” Angered by his betrayal, she reached up and pinched the soft skin under his arm. He jumped and raised his eyebrows at her like he was proud of himself.

Lord Tully seemed not to notice as he opened the door leading outside, looking pleased. The sun was high in the sky at this point in the day, so it shined brightly through the opening. She watched Gendry’s face as he walked into the sunlight. He squeezed his eyes shut and blinked several times before raising his face and letting it fully shroud his skin.

A soft sigh fluttered from between his teeth and his lips eased into a crooked smile. He looked relieved. She could feel herself smile lightly, too.

“Gendry, what were you working on at the forge before this whole mess?” The Blackfish asked, spotting his happiness. There was a slight breeze which cooled the sun’s intensity. It was fall time, but the Riverlands rarely got too cold, due to the fork’s barrier from the mountains of the Eyrie. She knew it had to already be snowing there. A gust threw her braid over her shoulder as if it was reminding her: _Winter is coming._

She tried to imagine Winterfell around this time of year but she was only a summer child and that’s all she had seen of the seasons in her life. She looked around her and thought the bustling common people were very similar to the people of Winterfell. Gendry and her uncle’s voices started to blend in with the noise around her. People scurried back and forth between work areas and their homes carrying buckets or bolts of cloth, leading sheep, horses, or children. They all held their own secrets and hopes and continued on with life. She knew her secrets. But what were her hopes? Did she even have hopes? The Great Sept of Baelor and her father being pushed to his knees flashed in her mind. The gates of the Twins opened and the image of Robb’s body was smothered by Grey Wind’s head. The Frey man who spoke so proudly of slitting her mother’s throat echoed through her head.

She couldn’t hear the soft crunch of their feet on the gravel anymore. As she glanced around, everyone’s faces darkened. They had no structure or color; just blank, grey skin stretched over their heads into a haunting canvas. Then, there were two small figures that contrasted against the expressionless sea. They were black, charcoaled forms that didn’t even look human. They ran and jumped, waving their misshapen, shambling limbs with a texture that made her gut twist. Each move they made sloughed off a layer of cinders on to the dirt below their feet. The fragments burst into flames and laughter resonated like Bran and Rickon’s.

Fear rose in her throat and it took everything to swallow the scream that threatened to erupt from her. She couldn’t stop watching their tiny bodies dance around each other happily, as if they weren’t burned corpses, slowly falling apart. She wasn’t aware of her own body anymore. Where was she? What was she doing before this moment? She could only feel smoldering in the hole where her heart used to be. The shadows of her brothers were getting closer as if she was walking toward them. Why would she want to walk closer? Fear cut her again.

She felt tugging on some part of her. What is that? She wanted to look away from them. She wanted to, but her eyes wouldn’t let her and they were careening toward her. Another jerk procured from nowhere; on her hand? She felt someone’s fingers tightly around her own. Her body still felt nonexistent. But she felt her hand so she focused on the feeling of the other hand’s touch. The dark forms got closer and she couldn’t look away.

Murmurs started to brush her ears. They spoke of swords and rare metals. The voices sounded so familiar to her. They weren’t Bran or Rickon giggling anymore. Then, it came to her like an invisible hand swept the impending danger from her mind: _Uncle Brynden and Gendry._ _She was walking Gendry to his chamber._ The faces of the common people faded into view and she could hear her uncle’s chuckle and the grind of their boots in the dust. Her body was shaking and her hands in fists. One hand was twisted in Gendry’s shirt and the other was clasped tightly in Gendry’s. His arm was around her shoulders pulling her into his side firmly. She was finally able to feel her body so she turned her head into his side. She didn’t know if the illusions were still there but she didn’t plan on looking back in that direction. Blood streamed quickly through her veins forcing a loud thumping in her chest.

Gendry squeezed her hand again and she looked up at him. He simply glanced down at her, his eyes reflecting the sun making them look like crystals. His eyebrows pulled together carving worry lines around his eyes. He knew something was wrong and she knew she couldn’t hide it from him. He turned his head back toward her uncle after one last concerned gaze. _He was distracting her uncle._

Suddenly, children’s voices carried over to her from where the two young boys were before and her eyes snapped to them. They were running directly at them and she couldn’t stop the fear that soaked through her skin and into her bones. She cringed away from the giggling as it became louder with their playful banter. She buried her face in Gendry’s side once again. He reacted by pulling her closer, almost behind him. They were nearly upon them and her body continued to walk as if she had no control of anything anymore. Her eyes squeezed shut and she tried calming her quickening breath. _Gods, there’s so much fear, I can’t take it._

Gendry squeezed her hand once more and she relished in the feeling. She swallowed the bile in her throat and targeted the soft cotton of his shirt on her face. It smelled like Gendry; like mint soap and ashes from the forge. He had not been near the metal hearth in weeks but the smell was evidently burned into him.

Her poor, mangled mind pushed her imitation brothers away as much as possible and replaced them with the real Bran and Rickon. Their smiles and silly bickering over who got to practice archery with Robb and Jon next, disguised the current looming figures. She focused as hard as her brain let her and then she didn’t hear their mocking voices. She peeked in front of her and they were gone. She let out a shaky breath and took in another.

They were close to the barracks now, so she centered her attention on the stone walls that gave it the circular structure. There were men in the practice yard, their clanging swords and taunting shouts echoed to them. She averted her eyes from them in the case that they became another horrific hallucination. As they passed, the soldiers all bowed to the Lord of Riverrun and patted Gendry on the back, head, or shoulder with words of wellness. He smiled gratefully to them all and continued forward into the barracks. She had no idea all of the men respected him that much. A small piece of worry left her.

“Let’s get you up these stairs and to your bed chamber. I’m sure you’re having a hard time after all that walking.” Her Uncle Brynden readjusted Gendry’s arm around his shoulder and began lugging him up the stairs. She felt as if she wasn’t being helpful at all. The sausage and eggs she ate this morning threatened to return to her mouth and her anxious shaking continued faintly. Gendry’s arm was still securely around her shoulders, holding her body upright. It was as if he was supporting her more than she was him. She felt like a parasite, sucking his energy and using it for herself. _I’m terrible._

He was only up one flight of stairs which was relieving because she could hear Gendry’s breath becoming ragged. The Blackfish swung open a door and revealed a small but not too small, room. It contained a Gendry-sized bed and a wardrobe. She had no idea he had received this acceptable of a room when they arrived here. She would have expected at least a shared chamber. They slowly made their way over to the bed and he sat heavily onto the mattress. A sense of unwillingness tugged at the muscles in her arm as she let go of his shirt and slipped out from underneath him. She felt unsteady standing on her own and her hand was sore from her grip.

He let out a big sigh and looked around the square room, “Thank the gods.”

Lord Tully chuckled and slapped his shoulder. “Tired of being in the maester’s chambers? It was awful dark and lonely in there, wasn’t it?” They both looked at her with completely separate expressions. Her uncle was grinning furiously and Gendry seemed to be scrutinizing her with a worried gaze.

“What?” she snapped. It wasn’t as fierce as she had hoped and the Blackfish seemed to detect it. He moved toward her and she blurted, “Can I meet you in the Maester’s Tower? I need to talk to Gendry and then I will be over to ask you about - ,” she didn’t want to give anything away already so she finished weakly, “the thing.” She was feeling so flustered and sick and she didn’t want to be with her uncle alone yet. He would assume the worst and restrict her from something else along with the training yard.

That suspicious grin returned but with a broader aspect that made her eyes narrow. “Of course, my lady. Take your time.” And he left swiftly shutting the wooden paneled door behind him.

She stared at the door in disbelief, “That was way too easy.”

“Arya,” Gendry said firmly, shifting on his bed, “What the hell happened outside?”

She felt her pulse quicken again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just decided to stay with you until Maester Vyman got here. And then I’ll go over and talk to my uncle. You should lie down, I’ll bring you -.”

“Arya, I’m not stupid.”

“Yes, you are.” She didn’t want to talk about the ghostly figures. She just imagined them and gave her a fright. Besides, why would talking to Gendry about it help? She could just push it away into the vault where her family resided in her brain and not think about it. While she poured water into a goblet for Gendry, her trembling hands told her otherwise.

“Stop it. Tell me what happened, Arya.”

“I’m telling you, _nothing happened._ ” She slammed the cup onto his bedside table sloshing water.

“Arya, you were completely out of it. I almost told your uncle but I knew you wouldn’t have wanted him to know anything was wrong.” He sighed, looking at her hand, “You’re still shaking.”

She snatched her hand away and crossed her arms. He seemed concerned, but she could handle it on her own. She didn’t want to rely on him when she was already forcing the curse on him. His skin looked paler now that they were in a different room and the window let light in to emphasize his illness. She was sure the walk over took a lot of his strength. His hand rested on the post at the end of the bed as if he was holding himself up from falling back on to his mattress. Her eyes scanned his body and she met his eyes. She held his stare, analyzing the ornery flare they possessed before turning for the door. She knew if she stayed any longer he would harass it out of her and she couldn’t take knowing she was causing him more trouble.

“I’m leaving. I’ll come back later.” Her legs felt awkward having to support her weight on their own. She heard the bed protest as he leaned forward and grabbed her sleeve. His other hand was clasping the bedpost as if it was a boat and he was trying to save her from drowning. His jaw was set squarely and his eyes were smoldering stubbornly from his fever. It reminded her of his behavior from when they were younger and less likely to be rational. He didn’t look like he was going to be swayed from his current task. _He’s always been so bullheaded._

She uncrossed her arms and sighed heavily. “I’m only going to tell you if you promise me that you’ll rest and stop acting like an idiot.” The bed creaked again as she pushed on his shoulders until he was safely back aboard his bed.

Surprise overtook his previous expression momentarily but then it settled back into his original determined intensity. “Fine. Tell me.” He motioned for her to sit next to him.

She rolled her eyes and plopped onto the soft mattress. It felt strange sitting beside him like this. He wasn’t lying down and she wasn’t sitting opposite him. She avoided making eye contact by viewing his room. “I didn’t know you got your own room. It’s pretty nice. Kind of like an important commander or something.”

“Arya…”

She groaned loudly, “Why do you need to know? I just imagined it. It wasn’t anything serious…”

“How could it not be serious? You were shaking like a leaf and you looked like you saw a ghost-,” she glanced at him involuntarily, “I was really worried…” He looked truly concerned as he mumbled his last comments. Guilt hit her like someone slapped her across the face. She closed her eyes as her fingers fumbled with the cloth on her trousers as if playing with it helped distract her from the current situation. The dancing, burning bodies flashed in her mind and she chewed on her lip. The darkness of her eyelids seemed like a door to her mind and everything she pushed away, spilled out.

“Arya?” His hand pried its way into her fist and closed the door. She looked at him hoping her face didn’t reveal her thoughts. “Please, tell me.”

Her head throbbed as she ran her fingers through her hair, pulling a few strands loose from the braid, “I thought I saw someone. Well, two people.” She paused, wondering whether that was enough for him but he urged her to continue with a light squeeze of her hand, “I thought I saw my - .”

The door swung open and Maester Vyman strolled in, pulling at his robes. “It’s getting colder. I should have made you wear more clothing, Gendry. I don’t want you getting more ill.”

She stood quickly and felt Gendry’s hand still grasping hers. His grip was tight with the intention of holding her there. She glared at him but he turned, “Maester, could you give Lady Arya and me -.”

“- I need to meet with my uncle so it can wait, _Gendry_.” She walked purposefully to the door, leaving him no choice but to let go. She continued innocently, “By the way, maester, Gendry tried to convince us to visit the forge. Didn’t you tell him he wasn’t allowed…?” She left Gendry looking after her in disbelief and Maester Vyman chiding him relentlessly.

As soon as she closed the door, she felt regret weighing down her shoulders. As she descended the stairs and walked through the training yard and to the maester’s tower, she pondered whether she should have told Gendry. It may have made her feel better but what good would it do? If anything, it would trouble him more and that was not what she wanted. She didn’t even know if he really cared. He definitely risked a lot to find her antidote but _why?_ That seemed to be the question of her existence lately.

She was so busy thinking, she didn’t have time to be worried about all the people around her where her ghostly brothers revealed themselves. She marched up the steps to the top of the tower where her uncle waited. As much as she didn’t want to talk to her uncle, she was surprised with how easily she was able to force herself to actually meet him, rather than ignore him again. She took a deep breath and entered the chamber.

“There you are. I was beginning to believe you had decided to avoid me _again._ ” He leaned against the maester’s desk and gave her a toothy grin. He didn’t seem as serious as everyone in Riverrun made her believe. He was a war hero when he was younger in the War of the Ninepenny Kings and also, proved his strategic skills when he took back Riverrun a few years back. He had smile lines around his eyes and mouth creating a friendly, kind demeanor. If he was ever humorless or stony-faced, she never saw it.

She spotted the dagger lying near the other side of the maester’s desk. The question seemed so threatening, even if it was such a simple thing. It was as if it was poisoning her mind like the dagger did her body. This piece of information was necessary if she wished to solve her problem so she would take this seriously. Her uncle’s honesty and sincerity was essential as well so she decided to be straightforward and make her expectations clear. She walked to it, took the handle and lifted it pommel up. She screwed up her face as she tilted it in the light waiting for the bird to appear. And of course, the lines joined and procured a small delicate bird.

“Uncle, this is the dagger that poisoned me, right?”

His smile faded and he studied her, not even looking at the blade. He nodded.

“Look into the emerald against the light and you will see these small white lines. If you turn it, they will connect into something.” She handed it to him carefully. She didn’t know if the maester’s mysterious powder actually counteracted the poison. The last thing she needed was for the Lord of Riverrun to fall to her same fate.

The heavy curtain that cloaked the window for Gendry’s sake had been pulled back and ample light spilled into the room. His grey, stormy eyes reflected the beams as he turned and scrutinized the gem. She watched him carefully. The dagger tipped and rotated until the Blackfish’s hand stopped suddenly. His eyes grew wide and his fuzzy eyebrows rose.

“Is there a sigil that has green and silver with some kind of bird?”

Her uncle faced her and he looked completely solemn. It was as if he was _trying_ to look disinterested. He was quiet for a long moment before he licked his lips and answered, “None that I know of.”

She couldn’t believe it. “You’re lying,” she blurted breathlessly. The instincts she formed in Braavos from weeks of practice with the waif girl, shot through her chest like a loosed arrow.

He blinked and eased back into the smile he always gave her but with a slight tightness to it, “No, I am not. There isn’t a sigil with those colors and symbol. Perhaps the maester who owned it had a liking for birds and the color green.”

Her jaw reacted to her anger and her hands closed into hard fists. “This is why I didn’t want to ask you. I knew you were going to lie to me. Doesn’t it matter to you to find the person that tried to kill me?” Her words dripped bitter astonishment. His easy smile disappeared and his expression darkened. He opened his mouth to defend himself but she didn’t want any of it. She walked to the door and turned her head to whisper one last request, “Come find me when you’re ready to tell me the truth.”     


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arya is going down hill... and I don't know if there's a bottom...

She returned to her chamber with a pulsing headache. Her body ached with the lack of rest and the constant tension that was forced on her. Cera hauled hot water to her bathing tub at her request. She didn’t want to return to Gendry’s chamber because he would badger her about the incident with her brothers and no one could disturb her if she was bathing. She wanted to be alone and sulk. Everything sat upon her shoulders as if it was slowly crushing her.

“M’lady, are you feeling well?” Cera broke through her thoughts quietly. She stared back at the young girl.

“Cera, have I ever told you that you look like my sister?” Her mind jumped with panic at the memory of her sister. She wasn’t used to speaking of her family so casually but her body continued numbly.

The girl blushed and looked away, “I couldn’t possibly. ‘Specially if she is anywhere as pretty as you are, m’lady.”

She blinked. _As pretty as me…?_

She shook it off, “She was very beautiful. Her name was Sansa. She had hair like my mother’s and she was a true lady.” She smiled, “We didn’t get along very well. She liked to be clean and proper. But I always spoiled her dresses or hair or food. She loved lemon cakes.” A wave of sadness brushed over her. She wanted to cry from the loss of her sister that she seemed to just now accept. “No one knows what happened to her.” She cleared her throat and straightened her back. If she cried now, Cera’s eyes would certainly pop out of her head the way they looked now.

“M’lady, mayhaps she is just in hiding like you were? If she is as brave as you are, I’m sure she is safe. I mean, you went to Braavos! She could be in one o’ the other free cities!” Her hands were clasped in front of her and she was beaming hopefully. Her blue eyes were full of admiration and wonder. She looked exactly like Sansa the day she was told they were to go to King’s Landing with Father. Her whole life was ahead of her and her dreams of marrying Joffrey were finally going to come true.

All of her hopes were shattered on the day their father died. She stood and walked to Cera. Cera was only a few years younger than her but the world didn’t have her in its crushing jaws yet. She wanted to make her life as glorious as the songs. She wanted Cera’s life to be the way Sansa would want it to be.

She placed a hand on Cera’s shoulder, “Thank you, Cera. I appreciate all the help you’ve given me. Please let me know if there is anything I can do for you.”

Her eyes grew even larger. “M-m-m’lady! I could never trouble you for anythin’! Servin’ you is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. You are so kind and gentle. The other servants were afraid of you when you first came to Riverrun but I told ‘em how you’ve taken care of your friend so good, you haven’t even slept in your own bed for weeks! They all believed you were just a killer. But I told ‘em.” She nodded animatedly. “I bet you would do the same for someone else. You might’ve killed people but I know you can save people too. I seen it.” She smiled showing her crooked teeth.

She was speechless and her brain had lost all the energy to think of a response so she squeezed her shoulder and returned her smile. Cera finished her bath and left with a cheerful bound to her step. She skinned her breeches and tunic shivering from the breeze whistling through the window. Normally, she welcomed the touch of cold but now she felt as if she was an empty shell and she couldn’t find happiness with any contact. She stepped into the steaming water of the bath and already found comfort with the burning sensation on her skin. She sank into the water as if melting and allowed her head to go under the surface. The water filled her ears and every other crevice of her body. The tub was large enough for her to stretch out flat against the bottom. The heat was almost suffocating even without the water. Memories of her younger self not receiving a hot bath for days or even weeks pricked her conscience. Those were the days when she traveled with Yoren and the others heading for the Wall. She was known as Arry the _boy_ , then. Her alias refused her even from a dip in the God’s Eye River. The fleas and other critters she carried from King’s Landing lived with her for a long time.

Her chest began to hurt from the lack of oxygen so she resurfaced reluctantly. Water rolled down her face and for a moment she thought they were tears. She ignored the feeling and scrubbed her hair with the lavender Cera left. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the smell but it would give her headaches if it clung to her skin for too long. When she finished she had the urge to get out, but her body refused her request. The water remained hot and comforting. She pulled her knees up to her chin and hugged her legs. _Calm as still water._ And the ripples smoothed around her until all that moved was her chest as she breathed. Her body felt so incredibly tired in that moment. When she finally stopped moving and refrained from allowing herself to shove everything into her overflowing mind, her eyes closed finally. _When was the last time she slept?_ The water was a blanket of worries as it crept around her perimeter.

_“…you haven’t even slept in your own bed for weeks!”_

Her conscience was screaming at her. _Don’t fall asleep! The dream… The dagger dream!_

Water sloshed over the side of the tub as she woke. She didn’t open her eyes. _I’m so tired. I just want to sleep without that dream._ Loneliness and desperation poured down her cheeks in the form of tears. The steamy warmth of the bath was gone and left a strange hotness. Wetness beaded on the skin that wasn’t submerged. It was heavy feeling, like every drop on her were the secrets she avoided and they escaped her hiding place during her unintentional unconsciousness. They wanted out. They wanted to drown her.

Finally, she raised her lids and stared into her reflection. Her face was creased in terror as she stared at the red likeness of herself in the liquid. _Blood. So much blood._ She clambered over the side spilling more on the floor. Her back pressed against her bed as she struggled to get as far away from the deathly tub. She rubbed frantically at her skin as bloody fingers traced her body, running from the higher altitudes of her skin to puddle beneath her. She whimpered as she sat in agonizing panic at the horror before her. _It isn’t real. It’s just another delusion like the one of Bran and Rickon._

She looked back at the red that smeared across the floor to her and her stomach heaved. This time she really did lose the contents of her belly. The chamber pot was nearly full as she curled into a ball and squeezed her eyes shut. She leaned against the mattress again feeling a solid object. _Needle._ Her hands were trembling so violently she almost couldn’t even pull her blankets aside as she hurriedly searched for her sword. At last her fingers touched the cold leather sheath and she yanked it free. Bloody streams still flowed down her arms as she clutched Needle tightly to her body. She rocked herself as she cradled the small blade. _Fear cuts deeper than swords. It isn’t real. It isn’t real._ No matter how many times she repeated it in her head, the fear remained.

She sat there for a long time, convincing herself it was all her imagination or maybe she was having a night terror like Gendry. She thanked the gods Cera didn’t return while the illusion dissipated and she forced her legs to move so she was sitting on her bed. The night she decided to become No One and she tossed all of her belongings into the river nagged at her memory. She was clasping Needle to her body as she did that night as well. Naked as her name day and she felt as exposed as if the population of Riverrun was in her room. The water had dried on her skin but there was still a puddle near the bath. She used the clothing she had worn earlier to soak it up and wring it back into the large basin.

Darkness shadowed her chamber as the sun sank in the sky. She sat on her bed in a clean pair of breeches and tunic as she attempted to move all her troubling thoughts behind the crumbled wall in her head. She continued to hold Needle close. As her composure was returning, yet weak, she concluded that she would finish any business in Riverrun and then leave as soon as she could. She returned Needle to its hiding place, its weight still lingering in her fingers.

As she made her way to Gendry’s chamber, she felt weary and unaware of everything around her. She wanted to climb on to her horse and ride along the Trident until it washed all of her distressing thoughts away. But then she wanted to be able to return to Riverrun. Uncle Brynden would be sitting in the dining hall waiting to eat with her, a loving grin reserved just for her. And Gendry would be in the forge, unharmed, banging on a piece of metal. She longed to feel complete and satisfied with her life without the guilt of causing tragedy among those she cared about. Did she care about Gendry too? She had long passed decided that she cared for her uncle. It was only now, when she was on the verge of leaving him, she accepted it. The place where her heart used to be, seemed to be shouting out, yelling at her to stay with the last part of her family. But her mind weakly replied that if she stayed, she would hurt them. Confusion, anger, irritation and defeat cloaked her body in an exhausting battle of fulfillment.

She bumped into a few soldiers in the practice yard and mumbled an apology. Their eyes bore into her back as she entered the door and more or less, stumbled up the stairs. She stood outside Gendry’s door attempting to calm herself and remember what it was like to act like Arya. Her mind was a whirlwind of bloody tears cascading over her body into a deathly puddle around her. The sanity she had been clinging to so desperately was rapidly fading. _Come on, Arya. Just a little bit longer._

She rubbed her face as if cleansing her mind and instead, carved the reason of visiting Gendry in her head. I will say my farewell and leave. Determined, she pushed on the door and walked in.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys aren't going to like this chapter...

“Thank the gods you’re here, my lady.” Maester Vyman stood from a chair that was pushed near the bed. Alarm struck her and she looked quickly to Gendry’s bed. But he was just sitting in his bed with an angry scowl and his arms crossed.

When he spotted her, his eyes brightened and he smiled, “ _Now_ can I go outside?”  

Her eyes rolled involuntarily, “You seriously sound like a child, Gendry.”

“Well, if he would stop treating me like one,” he pointed at the maester, “then I wouldn’t have to ask stupid questions like children do.”

Maester Vyman was frowning severely, “If you followed directions and listened to others who know better, I wouldn’t need to talk to you as if you were a simpleton.”

Gendry huffed and opened his mouth to counter but she quickly walked to him and pulled on his arm, “If you want to go then let’s go. I have something to do later.”

He moved quickly, dragging her toward the door. She was shocked, “For a sick person, you move pretty fast.”

He threw a grin down at her as the door shut and left the maester cussing softly. They stood in the hallway for a heartbeat before he took off down the stairs. Surprise took hold of her as she watched him walking steadily down the steps.

“Gendry! Wait!” She ran down the stairs, her own exhaustion affecting her stability. Her arm went around his waist instinctively.

“I don’t need your help anymore, you know.” He mumbled, obstinate. But he draped his arm over her shoulders anyway, relieving her. She felt like she needed to help him or else all these weeks of him suffering because of her curse was even more unbearable. She looked up at him and realized he looked worse than normal. His face was sweaty and his skin pale, emphasizing the darkness under his eyes.

“You seem better but you don’t _look_ better. I don’t think you should be walking around -.”

“Now don’t you start, too. I am perfectly fine. I don’t know why the maester has to be annoying me even now when he said I was well enough to be in my chamber. He won’t even let me take a walk by myself.” He sighed loudly. “You won’t even let me walk on my own.”

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” She was having trouble keeping her anger below the boiling point. Did he really think that he was well enough to be on his own? “Maester Vyman saved your life. You should be thanking him, not bitching at him. And you are _not_ perfectly fine. You still have a fever and you’re _still_ coughing up blood. Most men would take that as a sign of death!” She didn’t have the energy for anything anymore. She let the irritation fade as she ran her fingers through her hair, knocking a few strands into her face.

“Arya.” Gendry’s voice was different. She looked up at him. They were outside now and the setting sun shined brightly behind him. Her eyes burned from the light, magnifying her tiredness. “Are _you_ all right? When was the last time you slept?” Then his eyes narrowed as if he remembered something, “Also, you didn’t tell me what happened earlier today. You said you saw someone.”

She had completely forgotten about that since the incident with the tub. She stayed silent. There were other things she needed to talk to him about that were more important than that. She shouldn’t have even agreed to walk with him. Why was she so eager to be with Gendry? If anything, being with him alone was forcing the curse to inflict more harm.

He stopped walking, making her immobile too. “Arya. What is going on with you? I know something is wrong.” He turned facing her, making sure she knew he was being serious. He had a hand on her shoulder securely.

She wanted to tell him everything. But that wasn’t possible and the urge confused her. _Do I trust him?_ She found herself wanting to and halfway believing it. She shook her head, clearing it. _Follow through with the plan._ “I’m leav-.”

“Gendry! – Oh! My lady.” A tall man with sandy hair ran up and was currently bowing. He raised a freckled face and grinned. His appearance seemed to trigger a bit of recognition but she couldn’t recall if she had seen him in the practice yard before.

Gendry seemed startled but replied casually, “Good to see you Damien. I’m sorry but I’m in the middle of -.”

 _More distractions._ “You fight with an axe, Ser?” She gestured toward the two headed blade he was clutching.

“Oh, m’lady. I’m no Ser.” He blushed slightly. “But that is definitely what I’m aiming for. It is an honor to serve you and Lord Brynden.” His smile revealed a mouth full of very large teeth that resembled a horse. She smiled back out of courtesy. There was no need of her unlady-like behavior reaching her uncle. The man continued, “Gendry, I didn’t know you were well enough to walk. I heard from a handful of men that you had returned to your own chamber. I’ve been meaning to stop by -.”

“Damien, I’m sorry to cut this short but -,”

She interrupted again, gaining an irritated glare from Gendry, “You two can talk. I’m sure I can find my own way to -,” she paused a beat, “my uncle.” Telling Gendry that she was leaving was proving to be more difficult than she anticipated. It seemed that he wasn’t going to let her leave without having to tell him everything he is so eager to know about. She turned her back but his hand caught around her wrist and she was being dragged backwards to the barracks.

“Come see me in a few days, Damien! I’m not feeling well now but I will see you soon!” Gendry yelled to his friend, who by the looks of it was perpetually happy. He didn’t look phased by Gendry’s behavior at all.

She whipped around trying to free her arm. The anger was returning like a small rain cloud, slowly filling an already too full river. “ _Gendry, let go._ ”

He continued marching to the wooden doors, “No.”

“You’re such a stupid, bullheaded, stubborn ass-,” They reached the door and he swung it wide pulling them inside. There was little light at the bottom of the stairs due the lack of windows and torches lining the walls.

He faced her once again, gripping her arms, “You tell me what’s going on, _now._ ”

Impatience finally surfaced like a wave of hot, rage-filled water, “I don’t have to tell you anything! Why would I want to tell you anyway? You don’t _care_ -,” She was standing on the tips of her toes, staring straight into his eyes. She regretted her last comment immediately because the willful concern that initially resided in the blue of his eyes faded and hurt took its place. He dropped his hands from her. “I just don’t feel – Gendry!”

A stream of red started from his nostril and trailed around his lip. Panic cut her like a blade across her mind. And then she heard his wheezing breath. _How did I not hear it before?_

“Gods, it feels like a stone in my chest.” His face scrunched up as he pressed a hand to the middle of his shirt.

“Quick, let’s get you upstairs to -.”

And then he coughed. His hand turned into a fist gripping the fabric as he staggered forward knocking them both against the wall. He stopped himself from crushing her with his arm and she put her hands on either side of his torso. His cough blew over her wetly and the smell of mint and stale blood caressed her skin. He was leaning over her, blood dripping into his beard. She could feel his ribs beneath her fingers, straining to continue his respiration. Shadows played across his face like a horde of fingers attempting to suffocate him.

His eyes were half closed but they suddenly snapped open and he gasped, “I-I’m sorry!” He pushed from the wall teetering back, leaving her hands empty. Her body still stood partway in shock until she saw him falling. She dashed forward catching his head before he slammed it against the stone floor. The first cough was huge and forceful but now they had transformed into small, panting rasps. Her body felt numb, with fear running through her veins. His mouth was a gruesome, pained twist as his breaths became more labored. _I don’t know what to do. He’s dying._ Helplessness greeted her like an old friend.

She was cradling his head as the rest of his body quaked. She searched for his eyes, but they  were unfocused and _blurry._ Was she crying? She couldn’t feel it. All that her senses allowed was his trembling body to consume her. He was trying to take deep breaths but they were cut short, causing him to gulp for more air like a fish out of water. He yanked at his shirt as if trying to open his chest.

She couldn’t take it. “I don’t know what to _do_.” Her voice cracked and she could finally feel the tears coursing down her skin. He was dying in her arms and she just sat there weakly.

Suddenly, his head was moving back and forth in her hands slightly. She searched for his eyes and found them pleading with her. His eyebrows were curved upward and he found her hand. “Don’t…” He shook his head again, “…cry.” She heard something crackle in his throat as he turned his head and coughed enormously, projecting chunks of brownish red substance onto the bottom step.

Finally, _finally,_ she got her wits about her and yelled up the stairs, “Help! HELP!” Her voice echoed around them, her emotions clearly ringing. He held her hand close to him, wincing with each gargling intake. She returned his grip, her hands contributing to his own trembling. _Why was no one coming?_ His eyes were fading and he was becoming limp when she heard footsteps. She almost yelled again but Gendry was struggling to say something. She shook her head hoping to keep him from inducing more pain but he persisted. His chest puffed up and he croaked heavily, “Don’t leave me, Arya.” Another overwhelming cough consumed him. Only this time, his eyes widened and she could feel all of his muscles go rigid.

“Help! Please!” She screamed. All she could hear was clicking from his mouth as his chest ceased to inhale. A glimmer of blue was the last she saw of his eyes as his body stilled.

“Gendry?” She whispered. Everything went cold around her as his fingers loosened from her own.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a short one, but it gives a little more detail to Arya's identity crisis. Enjoy!

She didn’t hear the men. She didn’t see them carry him up the stairs. She didn’t feel her uncle shaking her. There was nothing.

Soon, she realized her arms were empty and the Blackfish was sitting in front of her. In his hand he held a square piece of cotton. His voice sounded like he was holding a hand over his mouth. The more she looked at the rag, the more it focused. She heard her uncle’s voice speaking her name and repeating himself, “Arya. Can you hear me? Gendry isn’t dead,” over and over. Then, she could see red and brown staining the cloth. _Blood? Why is there blood everywhere I look? Always, always, always…_

She stared at the soiled material never really seeing it, getting closer to her face. It scratched at her skin with the scrubbing effort of her Uncle Brynden. She could feel moisture on her cheeks, still pouring from her eyes.

“Arya. Can you hear me?” She wanted to nod and end his worrisome look but she didn’t have the strength. _I’m so useless._ _I can’t even wipe away my own pathetic tears._

He finally pulled away, holding the blood-stained, tear-ridden fabric. It was like she was truly seeing it this time. _Bloody tears._ Fingertips caressed in sticky redness, Gendry’s cold, broken body lying in her arms, an emerald dagger… the images stabbed her mind relentlessly with each remembrance.

She had reached up and snatched the cloth from his unsuspecting hand. He was talking again but she didn’t hear. _Gendry isn’t dead…. Yet. My curse is killing him and he’s only alive right now because he wasn’t near her. I need to leave._

She held the little, scourged piece of hope to her chest and whispered, “I have to leave. Now.” She averted her eyes from her uncle’s distress and cherished the lingering warmth from his caring hands on the keepsake. She sprung to her feet and let her desire to save Gendry’s life fuel her tired legs. They brought her through the door behind her, a light-footed dodge through the practicing men of the training yard, to the stables and over the draw bridge in a feverish haste. She wiped at her face with her fist. _There’s no time for tears. I need to get as far away as possible._ She followed the Trident for a league before allowing her courser to slow.

What was she going to do now? The trees were swaying in the wind around her and her eyes had already adjusted to the darkness of the night. _Am I far enough away? Surely I am, if they only brought him up the stairs and that was enough to lift the curse._ She pulled on the reins and slid from the saddle. She needed to figure out what she was going to do now. Leaving was her main priority an hour ago and she was able to complete that task. But, she wasn’t prepared for leaving. She didn’t have any supplies. She had nothing.

She raked her fingers through her hair, scraping her scalp and creating a heavier curtain of hair. Her courser had brought her to a shallower area of the river. The river was trickling around the rocks that sat cozily in groups across the width. She knelt stiffly beside the edge and peered into the water. It took her a moment to notice the dark spots speckling her face. The moon and stars reflected accusingly in the water reminding her of the foretold events that occurred less than an hour ago. Her hands splashed in the water as she used the wetness to rub painfully at the violated skin of her face. The cloth she stole from her uncle felt heavy in her pocket as if it was trying to escape and wash itself of the previous horror. Her reflection stared back when she finished. The waves distorted her features, fabricating a scared, unrecognizable _thing_.

_Arya Stark’s existence needs to end. There is nothing left to such a broken girl._ A shimmer of silver flickered in the water and for a moment she thought it was a fish. But it twinkled again in the same spot of her reflection. She looked down and found the wolf pin Maester Vyman gave her. She had forgotten about it, yet she had pinned and re-pinned it to every top she wore since she received it. Her fingers grazed the metal and then she released the pin from the fabric.

_I need to return. No… I need to return everything that was Arya Stark. I can no longer be Arya because she is already dead. She died long ago when her father was executed. When her brothers were skinned and burned. When her brother and mother were murdered. When her sister disappeared. When Arya Stark’s family died, she died with them._

She told herself this but her mind was stubborn. It was so natural to just slip into Arya’s presence when she returned to Westeros, that she wasn’t sure she could rid of her again. Arya was near impossible to smother when she was trying to assume No One’s identity in Braavos, though it was successful.

She took a shaky, uncertain breath. With time, it could be done. She will cut ties and then Arya Stark will have no reason to remain. _No reason._


	20. Chapter 20

Gendry didn’t remember much from what happened at the bottom of the stairs, but he did remember Arya falling apart. Her face was tight with fear and her eyes… gods, her eyes were drowning in _torment_. It didn’t matter that he had nearly coughed himself to death. The way she reacted was enough to kill him.

“Gendry?” Maester Vyman was sitting beside him on the bed, his old face creased in sympathy. “I’m sure she will be back soon. I don’t think she could leave so easily. Not with you and her uncle here.”

Lord Tully had returned to his room spouting angry accusations of departure after Arya left. Gendry had just recovered from his near death and he was still wary of the world around him. But the Blackfish interrogated him nonetheless, asking about Arya’s plans to leave. After several minutes of explaining his attempts to bring Arya back from her impassive state and the last comment she made before disappearing into the night, Gendry finally processed the situation. Her uncle was a wreck of colliding anger and grief. After revealing her strange behavior to Lord Tully, he had nothing left to offer. She never told him about her thoughts of leaving.

 _“I can’t keep any of my family alive. I’m a failure as my brother declared when he deemed me the Blackfish of the Tully’s.”_ Maester Vyman scuffled quickly after the Lord of Riverrun as he strode out the door in a disheartened hunch.

 _She couldn’t have left. Not without saying ‘good bye.’_ He suddenly felt furious with her for leaving her uncle. He didn’t care that she was leaving him alone, but not when her uncle had been so kind. It wasn’t fair. He dug his fists into his mattress, twisting. _Arya, why do you have to be so stupid?_ She had a good life here and the Blackfish was willing to allow her to continue training as she wished. She could have been happy again.

He let out a haughty sigh and turned his head toward the window. His body was sore from the beating the last fit caused but he could _breathe_. The maester told him that he couldn’t hear the sickness in his lungs anymore and he was sure that his days of coughing blood were over. He had finally reached the storm before the calm. Well, in his sickness anyway. His muscles still tingled from the lack of oxygen he endured earlier. They said he wasn’t breathing when they found him and Arya. Many of the men debated carrying her up the stairs as well, due to her absent response. He heard a man tell the Blackfish that she didn’t move or even act like she saw them when they dragged his body away from her. The jolting movement from the group of soldiers that lugged him up the stairs knocked the matter out that blocked his breathing. He couldn’t remember much, just a lot of talking and hurting. And Arya’s tears. _Why did you leave?_

There was a soft knock at his door that would have startled him if he didn’t feel so numb. “Come in.” he said weakly. It was most likely the maester coming back to inform him to go to sleep and rest for the thousandth time. His eyes didn’t want to leave the window.

Soft footsteps entered the room and someone sat at the end of his bed. He finally tore his eyes away and blinked several times before registering that he wasn’t in a dream. Arya sat slightly slumped on his mattress. Her hair barely clung to the braid that laid down her neck. Her face wasn’t visible through the shadows and the silence between them seemed like eternity. He didn’t even know what to say. _How could you leave your uncle like that? Why won’t you let anyone help you? What would I do if you disappeared again?_

He teetered between questions fueled by his many emotions, deciding what would be the best thing to say but she spoke before he could, “I’m leaving. For good this time.”

His heart dropped to his feet and he went cold. “Why?” He couldn’t formulate a more expressive question.

She finally turned her head and looked at him with a tired, hardened gaze. “I’m doing it to save you. I can’t stay here any longer.” She paused and her eyes focused on something that wasn’t there, “I’m killing you. I can’t stay -,” she chewed her lip and closed her eyes like she was having trouble saying something even more ridiculous than what she already spoke. _How could she possibly be killing me?_

“… because I’m cursed.” She opened her grey eyes cautiously and then went stony when she spotted his amusement.

“That is the _stupidest_ thing I’ve ever heard.” Her jaw dropped and he continued, “Do you really expect me to believe that?” He swung his legs over the side of his bed as she stood. Then, they faced each other as if preparing for a duel.

“I can’t believe you left your uncle like that -.”

“I had no choice! What do you expect me to do? I’m trying to keep him safe!”

“Safe? Cursed? Have you gone mad? That is the worst excuse -.”

“It’s not an excuse! It’s true! Why did I think you would understand? You’re stupider than -.”

“You’re stupid to even believe something so _idiotic_. You’re just scared!” He was towering over her like all of the fury he had been keeping in him since the day she left years ago, was finally scrambling its way out of his heart to explode over her. “You’re afraid to be comfortable anywhere! You won’t let anyone in and that’s what is hurting the people you care about. If you had seen the condition your uncle was in when you left, you -,” He paused watching her face change and thinking of the next piece of ammunition, “I don’t even know what you would do! And using a _curse_ to excuse you for your actions? To leave him alone, _again_? You aren’t the only one who lost family! I would give anything to have what you have!”

She was quiet, deadly, “I tried to give you a family -.”

“Really? You’re still on that? I admit it. You were right! The Brotherhood was not what I wanted them to be. But can you blame me? I wanted to rely on someone other than myself for once in my _life_. And they were there, willing to take me in right then. I didn’t know if your brother would accept my presence or toss me out for the Gold Cloaks to carry me away back to the queen. At least I had security with the Brotherhood. And then I found you again and I was able to leave those lying, murderers -.” He realized he was rambling and letting the heat of his past cut Arya, over and over. He took a deep breath and attempted to change course, “You can’t leave, Arya. Your uncle needs you. All this nonsense about a curse -.”

Her head snapped up finally, revealing her eyes alight with anger and desperation, “Why can’t I be cursed? There are dragons and a red god that brings people back from the dead and people who can change their faces! If there is magic like that, why can’t I be cursed?” She stared at him expectantly. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. “You want proof? I’m cursed because every time I was near someone I loved they _died_.” Normally, he could see her lies but her face seemed completely convinced. She believed it.

She was advancing on him now, her hands in fists beside her, “I was there when my father’s head was removed from his shoulders on the steps of the Sept of Baelor. I didn’t _have_ to see his head roll down the stairs. My sister’s scream was enough to paint a picture for me.” She was shaking now and the angry wall of his previous arguments were crumbling. “Then, I began travel with Yoren and you and Lommy and Hotpie. He was going to take me to Winterfell where my two younger brothers were waiting. But then the fucking Mountain came and took us to Harrenhal. But what I didn’t know, was when I was on my way to Winterfell, my father’s ward, Theon Greyjoy –   _I pray to the gods he is burning in all the seven hells –,”_ there was a break as she growled the last part viciously and her hands gripped her pants, “He skinned my brothers and _burned_ them. And he hung them over my home’s walls right before he burned them too.” Then came the tears. Tears that were similar but different than when he saw them before. “My curse killed my brothers and my home in one stroke. All because I was on my way, I was too hopeful and too close to being with family again.”

He sensed that she was through venting the origins of her curse so he tried to apologize, “Arya, I’m sor -.”

She interrupted again, “No, I’m not finished. That is not the only family I lost to this curse. It wasn’t only my father and baby brothers. No. It took my mother and older brother too. The Hound took me to the Twins and _I was so close_. I was _right there._ ” Her voice had gone soft and she was wringing her fingers.

He knew what happened there but he didn’t want to hear it again from Arya. Not when it was her family. He should have stopped her from bringing up any of this. “Arya, no. You don’t have -.”

“You wanted proof that I’m cursed. So I’m telling you.” Her cheeks were wet and she continued, “I remember all the Northmen being killed. And Grey Wind too. I had wished with all my heart that Nymeria was there to rip out all their throats. I was so weak. I did nothing.” He wanted her to stop.  “The Hound knocked me unconscious when I tried to run in and help, but I woke before we left the Twins. I woke to them all chanting, ‘ _King in the North, King in the North.’_ And then I saw my brother.” She was staring at his chest and she had that look of not seeing anything again. “They had sewn Grey Wind’s head to his shoulders. I thought it was all a nightmare. But then I really did have a nightmare and for some reason I knew it was real. In the dream, I was a wolf and I saw my mother in the Trident.” She smiled sadly. “That’s how I knew she was dead. She was naked and her throat was cut.” He knew what her mother looked like. A horror not meant to be human again; a monster. It was quiet again. Her tears were freely flowing now but he was sure she didn’t even know about it. Her body had shrunk smaller and smaller, as she continued. He finally saw how bad of shape she was in. Her eyes were sagging and dark, and her hair gave her a look of disheveled, self-loathing. He felt awful for what he said. What kind of person doesn’t see when another person is slowly destroying themselves?

“That’s why I’m meant to be alone. I _have_ to leave, Gendry. I killed them all. If I had pursued the search for my sister, Sansa, I’m sure I would receive word of her death as I neared her. And I want to go to the Wall and see my brother, Jon, but I can’t. I can’t risk any more lives.” She refocused on him and her eyes were pleading, “I can’t let you die. And it’s only a matter of time before something bad happens to my uncle.” She scratched at her ear and acted like she had just woken from a dream as she realized how wet her face was.

She wiped hastily at her face turning away and a surge of panic took over his limbs, grabbing her shoulders. She stuttered, looking startled. He didn’t know what to say to make her stay so he would just try to convince her that the “curse” wasn’t real. “Arya, you didn’t kill your family. You can’t really believe that.” He scrutinized her as she opened her mouth again in protest, “ _You didn’t kill them._ It was King Joffrey, that Greyjoy boy, and Walder Frey. You didn’t. Please, you can’t leave.” He was running out of words other than “don’t leave” and “please.” _What else could I possibly say?_

She let out a shaky sigh and whispered, “I’m supposed to be alone. I always have been.”

“No. You don’t have to be alone, just stay here -.”

“Gendry, stop. I can’t.” She squirmed under his hands, “You have to let go of me.”

He stepped closer, frowning. His mind was yelling at him to say something but nothing came bursting from his mouth like it wanted. She felt small underneath his hands and she looked even smaller when he was closer. He couldn’t let her leave. Not by herself. What was _he_ going to do? He had nowhere to go. No one wanted him and he was nothing without a forge and his hammer. Lord Tully would surely kick him out just from sheer hatred of letting her leave. The Blackfish would never forgive him, and if he did, he wouldn’t want to keep another useless person around.

“ _I want you to know that you are welcome here. You have been there with her when no one else could.”_ That’s what he said, but he only said that with the confidence that where he was, Arya would be.

“Gendry, _let go._ ” She was beginning to kick at his shins and push at his arms. He knew she wasn’t putting her full strength into her struggle to escape him because she would have broken free by now. Perhaps she was too tired or she didn’t want to hurt him because she still believed he was ill. She did care. _Of course she cares. She’s been by your bedside for weeks and is slowly killing herself while you get better._ The conscience he didn’t know he had was scolding him. Or rather, revealing how selfish he had been.

“Gendry, you need to let me go, please!” The tears returned and she was becoming hysterical. _What am I supposed to say?_ The threads of hair that were draping around her face were now sticking to it and she was breathing fast. Her behavior was beginning to eat away at his own composure and he felt he was running out of time to do something. He couldn’t hold her forever.

“… _hold on to me and I won’t leave.”_ He heard her voice whisper in a quiet memory. _Was that real?_ It didn’t matter. He took a deep breath, puffing out his chest and thrusting her shaking body into him.

She made an _oof_ noise as he squashed her against him. He waited for the angry cursing and violent retaliation, but none came.

In a hushed voice she murmured, “What are you doing? Let go.” She had his shirt in her hands and she was pushing back on him. Very weakly. _She doesn’t want to leave,_ he thought to himself, _so I’m going to make this hard for her._ His arms constricted tighter, wrapping around her back and then returning to himself. She was so small, he could envelope her twice in his embrace.

“Gendry,” her voice was confused and feeble, “please, I don’t understand -.”     

“You said you wouldn’t leave if I held on to you. That’s what you said.” He said, determined. He hoped to all the gods, new and old, that he was right about her saying that and it wasn’t a dream. It had to be true.

He felt her breath catch and he knew he was right. She didn’t think he would remember but he did. He had no idea when it happened but she said it and that was enough for him.

The sigh she let out warmed his shirt and brought his heart up to a faster pace. She was close to him again. So close.

Her hands loosened from his shirt and flopped to her sides as she turned her face sideways against him. Tears sparkled on her exposed cheek and he fought the urge to wipe it away. He couldn’t imagine the extent of stress she was under but he could see it and feel it. The infinitely darker circles beneath her eyes stared back at him painfully and her shoulder blades poked his arms. He would have thought she fell asleep if he didn’t watch the salty wetness glisten in her eyelashes with each blink.

She said nothing and he said nothing. They stood for a long time and he could feel his fever scratching its way to the surface again. He had pushed back his curtains earlier to let some fresh air in to his stuffy room but wasn’t given the chance to block out the night chill again. It cloaked them in a brisk veil, slowly clawing its way from their feet to the rest of their bodies.

Gendry refrained from shivering by clutching Arya more securely for as long as he could but eventually goose pimples plagued his arms and he quivered just the slightest. Her head brushed the cotton of his shirt pulling loose more hair as she looked up at him.

Concern creased her face, “You need to lie down.”

“No, I don’t.” He said stubbornly looking away. Her closeness was apparent again and he could feel heat surging up to his face. He hoped she thought it was the fever.

“Gendry, c’mon.” He looked back to her unraveling his arms from around her but keeping his hand in hers. He was glad she held his hand. He wouldn’t let go of her. Not this time.

She led him to his bed and he sat back against his pillows as he pulled her down with him to sit on the edge of the mattress. They sat in silence once again, holding each other’s hands. He watched her carefully waiting for a final answer. Silent prayers shot across his mind, willing the gods to persuade her to stay. He already knew the answer but he tried nonetheless.

Finally she glanced at him and her lips tugged slightly, “If you think too hard your little brain might explode.” That was the last thing he expected her to say but he smiled back. It didn’t matter how much he prayed or hugged her or begged her, she would still leave. The realization hit him hard and he felt his throat close.

“Promise me you’ll rest and get better.” She whispered softly. He instinctively added his other hand to where their two were already gathered. He wasn’t ready to let her go again. _Not again._

“What am I supposed to do?” He said gruffly.

She knew what he meant and she did that awfully sad smile again. “Everyone here already likes you. My uncle will hire you as a smith and keep you busy with swords and arrow heads and armor. You don’t need me.” _I do. I need you because you’re all I have._

He looked down at their hands because he could feel his sadness bubbling up. His own tears would come, but not with her there.

He saw her pull something out of her pocket and place it in his lap. “Could you give these back to my uncle and Maester Vyman? The cloth is Uncle Brynden’s and the pin is the maester’s.” He stared at the clump of cloth blankly and nodded. “Please tell them ‘thank you’ for me. It would mean a lot.” He nodded again. _Don’t leave me here alone. Please._

“Gendry,” she whispered. He didn’t want to look at her. “Gendry, I just -,” he knew she wouldn’t continue until he was giving her his attention so he raised his eyes and found fresh tears soaking her skin. He squeezed her hand and rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. He could feel the scars from hard work and pain. This was a different kind of pain for her. He couldn’t imagine the scars that were surely etched into her heart.

She took her other hand and dragged the back of it across her eyes while taking a deep, trembling breath. Her eyes settled on his and she said, “Thank you.” Her hand slipped from beneath his and she was gone from the room. _Now we’re both alone, Arya._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm also open to any critiques anyone might have with the content or writing skills in this fic. If there is something doesn't make sense, please let me know! I want most of this to be practical/logical.


	21. Chapter 21

                _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ She cursed herself over and over for breaking down in front of Gendry. The rain embraced the wind and used it to create a crude, stinging whip across her face. It was as if the world was punishing her for her weakness, too.

                Her courser rode hard along the Trident for a few leagues before she finally let it slow. She was trying to run away from her tears and sadness but they sat stubbornly within her. She thought that if she left Riverrun and the people she cared about, Arya Stark would have no reason to continue living in her. She had been fighting her presence since she left but she was making no progress. Her mind was groping for No One’s conscience, hoping for some thread of guidance to getting rid of Arya. She was a broken girl with too many demons lurking in her past. They wouldn’t let her move on with life and even if they did, what would she do? There was no purpose to Arya Stark anymore. Her list of people to kill had dwindled to very few, of which probably none of them were still alive. She could continue killing Freys but it didn’t give her satisfaction anymore. When she killed a Frey, she filled the hole where her heart used to be, with hatred and anger by remembering the way she had last seen her family; her father’s head absent from his body, her mother’s pale, mutilated form, Robb being smothered by Grey Wind’s bloody head, Bran and Rickon’s tiny scorched figures… She couldn’t even remember what they looked like before her curse killed them. She would have cried harder if she wasn’t already at her sorrow’s highest frequency.

                Soon she began laughing. She laughed at the pathetic pain that cloaked her defeated existence. If her younger self could see her now, she would be disgusted. Crying over people who die in her dreams? Crying over the sight of blood? Crying over the deaths of people who loved her? _Always crying._

_Arya Stark wouldn’t cry. Wolves don’t cry._

                The realization hit her like climbing a tree of reason and understanding, but then falling to the actuality of ground. She felt like she couldn’t breathe. _I’m already No One. I was never Arya. Arya Stark isn’t weak. I’m the emotions and memories Arya left behind when she lost her family. She is brave and strong and dignified. I am scared and pitiful and selfish. I have only been acting like Arya. Just like when I was Arry or Cat or Mercy. I am No One._

                That crushing thought gave her tears a whole new meaning. The sun was swallowed up by the monster clouds that hung dark and heavy in the sky. She didn’t know what time of day it was or how far from Riverrun she was. She didn’t know where she was going or what she was going to do.

                She thought of her Uncle Brynden and Gendry and how much she yearned to return to them. But it didn’t matter what she wanted. She left to save them and that’s all that mattered. It didn’t matter that she could feel herself ripping out the feelings that were forming in the hole that once held her heart. It didn’t matter that the roots they planted in her were what held her together and now that she was tearing them out, she was like crumbling soil, falling apart. It didn’t matter because they were safe and she was gone. Arya was gone. _I am No One._

                Each gallop was a bludgeoning to her already pounding headache. Her vision was becoming tunneled and blurry. The rocking her horse created caused her eyes to want to droop shut. Her stomach was in a hard, guilty knot but the hunger it held was more intense than she knew. She wanted to return to Riverrun and sleep without dreams and eat without the threat of losing it from another illusion. She wanted to forget her uncle’s shocked, hurt face when she left the first time and Gendry’s expression when she left the second time. She didn’t expect Gendry to understand but she didn’t expect him to try so hard for her to stay either. He yelled at her about things she didn’t understand. But then he hugged her. He remembered what she had said that day he had the night terror. “ _…hold on to me and I won’t leave._ ” She wanted to stay there. Now she was alone and cold and lost.

                Her cloak snapped urgently from the speed of her galloping steed. The overcast loomed above her accusingly as if saying that all the death and hurt she had caused made her a monster. People called wolves monsters, but she was worse. _How could I have possibly put myself at the same level as wolves or Nymeria? Nothing defines who I am because I am No One._

                Nothing is just nothing. No One is just No One. But Arya Stark is a wolf with a skinny sword. Needle represented Arya. _Needle._

                _Needle!_ She twisted in her saddle groping the attached bags for a long, thin blade. A feeling of dread filled her body. _I forgot Needle._ She jerked the reins and her horse whinnied, rearing suddenly.

                She woke to the world sideways and the soft taps of rain beginning to fall once again. Her mind felt bruised and sore but not from the hard hit of the ground. For once, she didn’t wake up because of the dagger dream, but the same racking sobs and sense of abandon weighed down on her.

                The rush of the river seemed near her as she tried gathering herself. She kept her eyes closed. She didn’t want to open them to an empty, lonely world again. _Slosh, slosh._ The water beaconed.   _Arya, Arya._

_I’m not Arya, stupid. Can’t you see?_

                Her fingers skidded across the mud and slid into the water. It was cold and all she wanted was to pull away from it. _Arya wouldn’t hate the cold like me._ Rain soaked into her skin and the wind tossed her hair. Strands of it stuck in her mouth and the sudden urge to cut it off, all of it, made her fingers twitch until she remembered how long it was. _Mother always loved my hair long._

The waves of the Trident splashed near her and threaded in and out of her fingers. _Arya, Arya._ It didn’t sound like water anymore; a voice she recognized. Something brushed her knuckles… cold… deathly cold…

                She slowly opened her eyes but not because she wanted to. Her body was curious of the strange, frozen touch. The eyes that stared back were pale, blue voids that were striking against the copper red hair that tangled around her bleak, ashen face. The water urged her fingers into the gaping tear in her neck and the near invisible lips shaped the sound of her name.

                “ _Arya, Arya.”_

                The horrible guttural noise that reached her sent her mind into a frenzy of dread and shocking consternation. Her name didn’t resonate from her mother’s mouth but from her throat. Her fingers caught the sound from the mortal cut and let it spread throughout her being, sinking into her very bones.

                She hauled her body into a sitting position as if in a trance and watched her mother’s hand float persistently toward the bank. Her mother’s arm sprang from the water and seized her wrist. She couldn’t move from her terrible touch. It was like she had no control over herself anymore. _Help me._ Her mother’s skin was rotted and separating from the muscles and bone hiding beneath.

                “ _Arya, Arya.”_ Her jaw hung open as the sound she produced bubbled from within her second mouth submerged in river water. Her once delicate, beautiful skin was now a decaying pulp, swimming in the current. Gaunt, bony fingers constricted and dug into her muddy arm.

                “No!” She ripped her arm from her mother’s clutches and went careening back. The ground was slippery as she pushed away from the naked corpse clambering out of the river. Her back pressed against something soft and warm. As she turned she didn’t even think when she saw who it was, she sprang unsteadily to her feet and flung her arms around him.

                “Father… Father… help me,” she cried into his chest. “Please, I’m so scared. Help me…” His body was warm for only a moment. Then it felt as though he grew a hard, rough armor that cut her arms and face. It scraped her face as she peered upward. “Father, what’s happenin -,”

                A dull, heavy plopping noise resounded near her feet. Her eyes found the area her father’s face should’ve been but instead a rugged, red stump stared back. Another strike of fright sliced her distraught mind as if it was the lightning flashing in the sky. She knew what laid at her feet as her eyes dropped to the expected horror.

                His eyes were partway rolled back, the strong, grey color now a blank, rain cloud. The skin clinging to his face seemed like a sort of dry meat that could easily be pulled apart with an undoubtable crunching sound. His mouth was dangling the same way her mother’s was, revealing maggots feasting on his tongue and gums.

                She stumbled back once again tripping slightly over her mother’s figure that continued to pursue her. _Help me. Gods, help me._ She wanted to run but her legs only allowed an awkward stagger. The rain and tears flowed on to her face partially blinding her and the thunder that shook the world partially deafened her. She didn’t want to look behind her for fear of seeing her parents seeking their daughter.

                Her feet lost their way and she went tumbling to the ground. Panic fueled her limbs as she crawled, sinking her fingers into the wet ground. _Somebody help me._ She tried telling herself the figures she saw were only produced by her mind but she _touched_ them. They were there.

 _Maybe it’s only a dream and I’ll wake up. If I think about it hard enough, I’ll wake up. It could be a night terror like Gendry’s or maybe everything was a dream._ She wanted to wake up next to Gendry’s bed or in Braavos or even at Winterfell. Perhaps her whole life was a dream, a lie.

“Arya, Arya.” Someone stood in front of her now. _No, please. No more._ They spoke again but it sounded muffled. Her eyes rose against her will and widened despite the abundant amount of rain water pouring into them.

 _There’s no escaping them. They will all come._ Robb’s body stood slumped against a tree as if he had a metal rod shoved through his body. His body lacked the head of her brother and instead, donned the head of a great direwolf. His stone colored fur stained by blood and arrows complimented his yellow eyes looking nowhere, lifeless.

“Arya, Arya.” Two little bodies stood on either side of Robb creating a deathly wall of brothers. They laughed and jumped from one crisp, blackened stub to the other. They taunted her despite her weak state. Her body throbbed from the fear that tore into her flesh.

Her voice shook, “Please, why are you doing this?” Shouldn’t she be happy that she’s surrounded by family again? She should be glad that they returned for her sake, right?

Her nails scratched at the earth anxiously as she backed the opposite way. “Please stop. _Please._ ”

 _I’m going mad. I’ve lost control and I can’t stop it._ _No one can help me. I’m alone._

“Arya, Arya.” New voices joined the chorus of her perished, mangled family. They stood behind her, looming expectantly. _Who else? Who?_  Her back turned on her dead brothers as the rest of her family joined her.     

“Arya, why did you leave Needle? Don’t you love me?” His voice touched her skin as if it was seeking her every weakness.

“Arya, why haven’t you looked for me? Don’t you miss me?” Her voice was soft, broken. Jon and Sansa looked down at her with misty, white eyes.

Her chest felt as though someone was stomping on it, over and over, eagerly waiting for it to cave in. She raised her hands to them, shaking her head numbly. “I do love you. A-and I miss you. Please, I’m sorry…”

The fog from their eyes leaked on to their expressionless faces, causing them to fade. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her eyes of the rain. “I’m sorry! _I’M SORRY!”_ Her pleads seemed to push them farther into transparency, their bodies dissolved into the background until there was nothing left.

“No…” she whispered to her abandoned surroundings. They all disappeared. “Please, no.” She wanted them back. It didn’t matter if they were decaying and falling apart, at least she wouldn’t be alone. It was like someone was slowly, so slowly, sawing her down the middle with a dull, ragged knife, starting at the top of her head and relentlessly working their way down the miserable remains of her existence.

“ _NO!_ ” she slammed her fists into the mud, screaming desperately. Thunder boomed around her shaking her senseless. _I don’t want to be alone._

Her legs moved stiffly, pushing herself to her feet. _I’m a hopeless wretch. I wish I could throw myself into the river and be done with it._ She glanced at the coursing water, greedily calling to her defeat. _I will die not knowing who the dagger maester was,_ she thought, _or if Gendry will live or if I will stay No One forever._ Her mind commanded her legs to move in that direction but they pressed forward following the river. _I can’t even end it. After all the men I’ve killed, I can’t even kill myself._ _Pitiful._ So she continued walking, not feeling the ache in her body, the chill settling in her bones, or the loneliness suffocating her remaining sanity. She just kept walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed creating the imagery in this chapter. I know there isn't much more character development, but I'm trying to work toward it. Bare with me.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the long wait! I've been busy teaching little chil'ens who think it's the end of the school year when really there's 5 more weeks left. 5 more weeks of forgetting how to walk in the hallways, raise their hands, and follow directions 10 seconds after I gave them. nah, I'm not bitter about it.
> 
> This chapter is still angsty, I'll admit, but there's some development with help from a character we don't know much about yet. He's so much fun to write because attitude (zig zag snap formation). hehehehe

_She’s really gone._

                Gendry sat in the place where Arya left him on his bed in a state of disbelief. It was the same as years ago at Hollow Hill with the Brotherhood.

                “ _She ran away and we can’t find her. She’s disappeared.”_

                He had blamed Beric Dondarrion for his carelessness and lack of concern but now he had no one else to blame but himself. He let her leave and he let her disappear. She didn’t deserve to be alone again.

                The wind blew through the window, lashing at his skin harshly but he didn’t know how to react. The last time he felt cold, he was hugging Arya. He held her tighter because he didn’t want the chill of the elements to reach her like it did him.

                Helplessness cloaked his mind and body, leaving his limbs feeling weak. He was trying to convince himself it was the sickness but he knew it was the loss of Arya. The sun was struggling to rise as the thick fog repressed its glow. Everything outside his window looked like they were mourning the departure of Arya as well.

                He had intended to sleep but he found that the forgiving release of the window was more comforting. The sunlight stung his eyes with the only reason of making him realize that there were tears magnifying the glare. He knew he was going to cry but he desired to reflect Arya’s strength. She cried, too, yet there were demons thrashing in her that even she couldn’t face. She had a reason to be sad and weak; he didn’t. He had lost his only friend but he never lost as much as she had. Her family was ripped from her and she had to survive on her own. But that didn’t cause her to break until now.

Or maybe it wasn’t that. She had adapted and learned to live for several years until he was reunited with her. _I’m the reason she lost her resilience. I relied too much on her during my sickness and that is the reason she’s alone now. I was too weak to leave the Brotherhood without her, I was too weak to fight the sickness without her and now, I was too weak to save her from her loneliness._ It felt like someone was attempting to wrench his heart from behind his ribs.

Gendry stayed in the same lonely spot on his bed, wallowing in sadness for an unmeasurable amount of time. All of his senses were dulled and unresponsive. He wished he could bring the anger he felt the first time she left to the surface again.

He didn’t hear Maester Vyman enter his room or sit nearby. It was as if he was underwater and everything was slowed down. As much as he wanted to tear his eyes away from the window and speak with the maester, he couldn’t. He didn’t want to. The world was empty without Arya in it. His heart throbbed painfully.

“Gendry…” he waited for a reply, then continued, “Gendry, you need to pull yourself out of this.” _I want to but I can’t._ “Gendry, all of the hard work Lady Arya did to make you better is going to waste if you keep this nonsense up.” His voice was becoming firmer, “What would Lady Arya think of you if she saw you this way?” The maester grabbed his chin and twisted his head until he was looking directly into his stormy eyes. It was like he hadn’t looked from the window at all.

He found his voice, though it was rough, “I can’t.”

“It isn’t the end of the world, boy. Now c’mon, you need to properly rest. I bet you’ve been sitting like this all night.” He pushed him forcefully down onto the pillows. His neck was grateful but his mind was panicking. Why did he get to rest when Arya needed it more?

He shook his head and struggled to sit back up, “I don’t want to lie down.”  

Maester Vyman threw his hands up, standing suddenly, “Fine! I am very much losing my patience of this moping between you and Lord Tully. Neither of you have learned anything from having her around. If you had paid attention, then maybe you could have graced yourself with some of her courage.” He walked to the curtains and snapped them shut. “I’m leaving until you’re ready to start caring again.” The door shut and he was gone. Gendry wanted to regret acting so helpless but he couldn’t feel anything but sadness.  

The morning flew by in an odd sort of way. It was quick but slow in moving. The birds soared by his window as if they were caught in a wind current. Their movements seemed effortless but their goal to progress in the sky was futile. He felt like the birds outside. Nothing he thought of made him less hopeless. Not even all the new smithing projects he had been planning for two weeks. He didn’t want anything but Arya. _I won’t be better until Arya is here again._

His next visitor came later in the morning and was less likely to be forgotten. Damien waltzed into his room and stood in Gendry’s line of sight. He looked at him but didn’t really see him. He didn’t want to see anyone.

“Hey, there, lover boy. Let’s go for a walk.” _Lover boy?_ Damien walked to the bed and pulled the sheets off, exposing him to the cold that gathered over the night.

For some reason a switch flicked on and anger flared. “What are you doing? Get out of my room, Damien.”

His friend only smiled and laughed, “I’m not leaving unless you come with me.” He scooped Gendry’s boots up off the floor and tossed them into his chest. They made a slapping noise as the leather whacked against him. The cold was barely noticeable anymore as his irritation heated up inside him.

“ _Get out._ ”

“Aww, is that anyway to talk to your friend?”

“I don’t want you in here. Just leave me _alone_.” He tried clinging to his anger in a desperate attempt to escape his sadness but it wasn’t working.

“That’s what you think she did to you, huh?” He paused and walked closer to the bed, smile fading. “Put your boots on. I think we need to take a visit to the forge.”

Gendry wanted to refuse again and toss him out, but he swung his legs over the side of the bed and slowly, reluctantly slid his feet into the boots. His fingers dug into the mattress as if they were trying to keep him there but Damien pulled on his arm, lifting him to his feet.

Damien didn’t say a word as he slung Gendry’s arm over his shoulders and walked out the door. Gendry couldn’t help thinking of all the times Arya was in Damien’s place with her arm around his middle. He sighed and walked slowly down the stairs.

“So, how are you feeling? I heard about your near-death experience.” Damien made his voice light but Gendry didn’t feel the warmth from his friend.

“I did die, actually.”

“That’s what everyone thought when Lady Arya ran faster than a bolt of lightning, to her horse and out the gate.” He seemed to be chewing on his sentence as he glanced at the dark clouds, stepping out the door of the barracks. “Sure, I was relieved to hear you were well, but I’m sure she would have liked to know that before leaving.”

There were people bustling about but they all seemed to be hunched, like the combination of poor weather and Lord Tully’s continual losses were weighing them down. He had no doubt word of Arya’s disappearance had spread to everyone in the triangular fortress.

He finally replied, “She came back.” Damien looked quickly back at him but returned his gaze elsewhere when Gendry resolved, “But she left again.”

“Why did she come back?”

“I don’t know. Probably to get supplies. She’s not one to do anything unprepared if she can help it.” He was becoming tired of this conversation. If Damien was trying to cheer him up, he wasn’t doing well.

“Hmm. Did she come see you?” He continued to look off thoughtfully as if choosing his words carefully.

“ _Yes._ How else would I know she came back?” He snapped, his patience dwindling.

“How did she act? I mean, was she happy with leaving?” Damien finally looked at him sideways. For some reason, he wished that he had continued to avert his gaze.

Gendry looked at the ground, answering quietly, “No. She was upset but she wanted to leave because -,” he paused, unsure if he should reveal her ridiculous notion that justified her leaving. He could feel his friend still blatantly staring at him so he continued with a sigh, “- because she thinks she’s cursed.”

Gendry expected laughter or a similar reaction but Damien replied plainly, “What curse?”

Impatience started to trickle back into his body, “The curse she thinks killed her whole family and is also killing me. She _insists_ that leaving is the only option.” The previous anger he held when she told him before was returning, “How can she believe she’s cursed? She didn’t kill her family. That’s so stupid. Why does she think leaving will help anyone? Her uncle is a wreck and she left me-,” sadness was beginning to push its way back through his emotional barrier, “-she left me here. Alone. Again.” All he wanted was to be back in his room so he could grovel without judgment from others. He looked away and realized they were standing outside his forge.

Plants were beginning to grow in the pathway due to his absent feet frequently flattening and building a trail. The smith that originally worked in his forge had retired to his home. He was an elderly man that gratefully gifted all of his tools and supplies to Gendry when Lord Tully came asking if he wanted an apprentice. Gendry was long passed that position, but he was glad to do anything that involved a hammer and hot metal. But, the former metal crafter urged Gendry to take his place, happily informing him and the Blackfish that his daughter would be taking care of him as he could barely grip a hammer anymore. The forge and small stone building became his and orders from Arya’s uncle and a variety of others, came flooding in.

Gendry felt more at home walking across the dirt floor than he did in his own home in Fleabottom. It could have had something to do with the fact that it was really his own; not Tobho’s, or the Brotherhood’s or even his mother’s. Everything about it seemed welcoming, even the little plants embedded in between the rocks in the wall. They seemed to be waving him over, rejoicing in his return, but his feet remained planted.

Damien began to walk toward the door but was unable to move more than a step. He glanced back, “Let’s go. You’ve been waiting to come in here. I know, the maester told me.” His sunny eyebrows dipped, perplexed.

“I don’t want to yet.” His fingers were pining for the weight of his hammer and his heart fluttered at the memory of it hitting metal, ringing to its own melody.

“You mean you’re waiting for Lady Arya to come with you?”

He didn’t answer.

Damien let out a frustrated sigh, reminding Gendry of Maester Vyman, “If you love her so much, why did you let her go?”

He choked on his gasp, “I don’t _love_ her.”

“Yes, you do. And if you did, you wouldn’t have let her be alone. Or at least that’s what I’m getting from your -,” he paused, stepping away and gesturing to Gendry, “ _behavior._ ”

Gendry was completely lost but irritation replaced his puzzlement, “My _behavior_ is the way it is because I’m sad my -,” he paused, trying to find the right word for Arya, “- friend left. Again.” He received a stoic glare from Damien. “I would be the same way if you left. Because you’re my friend.” He amended, earning an even deeper look than the former.

“You wouldn’t refuse going into your forge if I disappeared. You also wouldn’t be so emotional. I know a man in love when I see one.”

Gendry’s nose flared, “I’m not in love.”

“If Lady Arya was by my bedside for weeks, never leaving, giving up all her spare time to nurse me back to health, I think I would fall in love.” He waited for his response, glancing from the corner of his eyes, “She is very pretty and interesting to say the least.”

“I don’t _love_ her,” he countered, crossing his arms, “I respect her. As a person.” Damien rolled his eyes, “Besides, she hates anything to do with relationships. She will never love a man as a woman loves a man. It’s just impossible for her.” Was he trying to convince himself?

Damien laughed aloud, startling him out of his doubts, “C’mon, I’ll take you back to your room. You’re looking a little pale and I don’t know if it’s me causing it or your fever. Either way, I don’t need you passing out on me.” He wrapped his arm around his middle once again, “I’d need a team of horses to haul you back to your room.”

The air was heavy with potential rain as they walked back to the barracks. Damien seemed better now that he had confronted Gendry, as he resorted to his normal chatter. Gendry was still lost in thought but he didn’t think his friend was expecting much out of him. He left him in his room with a final goodbye and a quick, “Think about it!” before snapping the door shut.

The day was almost over as he wandered to his bed and sat. His ears sensed the sound of rain pattering outside his window, assuming the birds he was watching that morning had found shelter. He hoped Arya was somewhere dry, too.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a whole lot of unashamed fluff in these next couple chapters (as if the previous weren't enough), but hopefully it will develop some characters and move the storyline passed Arya's mental state. Hopefully.

Gendry woke to thunder rumbling in the sky and Arya’s pale, misty eyes. He sat up running his fingers through his hair. _Isn’t it enough that I am unhappy awake? Why do I need to dream about Arya, too?_

It was the same dream as he had when he was ill. His mother’s song starting off as a lovely, calming tune then transforming into a menacing cacophony sending Arya’s fluid dance into a state of withdrawal and fear. When he closed his eyes he could still see her gaping, cloudy eyes as if he was looking out the window into the overcast night, an illuminating light shining in the distance.

Gendry couldn’t even remember lying down or falling asleep for that matter. Weakness had certainly began to creep into him as Damien led him back from their stroll. _Our stupid, pointless stroll. I blame Damien for this dream._

Remembering their conversation frustrated him so he sat up quickly, yielding an instant headache. He sighed loudly, annoyed. His fingers pinched the arch of his nose momentarily in an attempt to extinguish the sharp pain in his forehead and to perhaps cool his temper. His stomach growled loudly, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten anything the whole day. The sadness must have smothered his hunger. Now he was just angry which apparently required more energy.

He stood thinking water would relieve his cravings. After a few attempts at lighting a match, the candle spilled light across the expanse of the room. A little unsteady on his own, he walked to the small table holding the pitcher and cup Maester Vyman left for him. He reached for the cup knocking it to the floor. The clang echoed around his room and most likely through the whole building. He cursed himself.

As he bent to retrieve the metal cup, a scraping sounded on the other side of his door. He sighed again, resolving the noise was a drunken soldier returning to his room or a whore searching for said soldier’s chamber. His fingers hooked the cup’s rim and he placed it back on the flat surface of the table to fill it with water. The pitcher was in his hand ready to pour and the same sound reached his ears again.

Sighing once again, he slammed the pitcher to the table and strode to the door, preparing to scold whoever was on the other side. He took a deep breath anticipating a yell as he angrily yanked the door open.

Instead, he froze in place as the unknown person stumbled into him. His first thought was a drunken whore but her finger trailed, blazing a path from his belly to his chest.

Her voice was a whisper, “Are you here to torment me, too?”

He could do nothing but gasp, “Arya?”

                The last thing he expected was her slight withdrawal. She stumbled back but kept contact with the hand that had now spread to press against his chest. Head still bowed, and a new tremble in her voice, she said, “I-Is it really you? O-Or are you Gendry with a dagger in your back?”

                Confusion caused him to say her name as before, and move toward her. He found that to be a mistake as she frantically retracted from him, her arms swinging behind her as if in anticipation of catching herself from falling. Though, instead of falling, her back found the wall with a dull _thump_. In response to the new situation, her arms swung again, back to the front with her palms facing him.

                She was whimpering incomprehensibly, hands shaking defensively. Gendry was frozen as he watched her recoil, his hands still hovering in the air, waiting to calm Arya and his confusion. _“Gendry with a dagger in your back”?_ He dropped his eyes to think of a solution and spotted a darkness on his white cotton shirt. Something that wasn’t there just a moment ago. Pulling on the hem for an easier examination revealed a scattered smear of red where Arya’s hand had just been. He swallowed hard, and immediately forgot his previous desire to resolve his questions. Instead, he urgently pursued Arya, his eyes scanning her body the best they could in the low light and his hands reaching out.

As soon as he took her dirty hands in his own, she tried pulling away, her body squirming along the wall, face only visible when she puffed heavily enough to part her screen of hair. In the limited light, he watched her eyes squeeze shut as if she expected him to be clawing them out. The struggle allowed her sleeves to slide to her elbows and reveal a nasty set of scrapes disfiguring her arms.

Strengthening his grip, he tried again, “Arya, stop. It’s me.”

Her hands closed into fists as if she was trying to stifle their tremble. The shaking redirected its affect to her voice, “Please, just -,” she paused to straighten her posture, “-please let go of me, for just a moment.”

He had to reason with the side of him that was scared she would run away like she had before, but eventually after a deep breath, he gingerly released his fingers’ hold. If he thought his body was tense since she first stumbled into his room, he was wrong. The muscles in his torso were close to splitting apart into a frayed mess, as she reached toward his chest and lightly probed him with her finger tips.

“I just need to know…” she breathed, shuffling closer, hand now journeying from his front to his back. Arya was close to him now, reaching under his arm and up to his shoulder blade.

Nervousness caused him to stutter out, “W-What are you checking for –“

A satisfied sniffle sounded from behind the cautious screen of hair and she leaned the rest of the way to press her forehead against the cotton of his shirt. “It’s you,” she mumbled to his tingling skin.

Unsure if touching her now would end in another fearful grapple, he whispered, “I told you it was me. What happened? Are you hurt- ?”

He missed her reply as she sank down the front of him to slump on the stone floor. The smell of rain and mud and blood lingered in the air as she left it to rest below. Though a little delayed from his uncertainty of all the previous events, he quickly knelt before her. Finally able to see the damage he only previously glimpsed, he saw that her face was also riddled with similar scrapes. Through the screen of limp, soaking hair he determined her injuries weren’t as severe as her arms. Arya’s posture implied she was near unconsciousness so he needed to act quickly.

Avoiding the side of her face smeared with blood, he hesitantly touched the other side, still uncertain of her mental judgement towards him. His confidence grew as she rocked her head toward his hand rather than away, “Arya? Can you hear me?”

She sighed in reply. “I’ll take that as a yes. You need Maester Vyman to patch you up. Let me take you back to your room -.” Her eyes flew open and she threw herself from his touch into the door frame behind her.

He flinched at the cracking noise her body made against the wood and immediately raised his hands as if surrendering. Her body was curled tightly, like a snake recoiling from a predator. “N-No!” she shouted, voice quavering.

“You’re all right now, Arya. Just let me -,” he reached toward her slowly. Her eyes grew wider and she hugged herself, cringing further into the wood work. He stopped. She was very obviously terrified, but his instinct was telling him that she wasn’t afraid of him anymore. Her eyes were wide, gazing at him like a spooked horse.

“Arya, what do you want me to do?” he spoke softly, leaning back slightly.

She shook her head, “Please. I don’t want to be alone anymore. Please…” she choked. Her hair had parted in her rash movements and he watched tears streak the filth coating her cheeks. His heart beat painfully, like her plea was a squeezing hand around it.

“S’okay, Arya. Stay here with me.” He whispered, slowly creeping forward and touching her shoulder. It was like he bumped a crank that had set cogs off to unwind her tensed body. Relieving her tension caused more tears to spill. He wondered what happened before she came to his room, but he pushed the question away. She needed someone to be with her, for once since her family died. He had wanted her to show a little dependence and rely on the people that cared about her but he knew that was too much for her. After all this time of fending for herself and repressing every thought, he knew it was the hardest thing for her to ask for help or comfort. Something broke her before she drifted to his room but he would wait to ask.

Her head tipped sideways as she looked up at him, her eyes full of sadness. He moved closer, “Can you walk?”

“I’m so tired…” she croaked, eyes closing. _I know, Arya. I know._

Arya’s clothes and cloak were completely soaked through. He unfastened her cloak and let it drop heavily from her shoulders. A slight tinge of apprehension stroked his mind because he wasn’t sure his sickness left him enough strength to carry Arya. But he relieved her back from the doorframe and scooped her legs nonetheless. She clutched his shirt and nuzzled her face into his neck sending a pleasurable shock down his spine. He quickly chided himself, _“She isn’t doing this for you, idiot. She only needs your support.”_

Shaking his head of the thoughts, he stood and was instantly concerned with how light she felt in his arms. He expected to struggle but that wasn’t the case. The last time he held her this way was when she was cut by the poisoned dagger and she was definitely heavier.

After setting her on the bed he was worried she would slump, falling off but she kept her grip on his shirt, her head nestled against him and her chilled body close. He considered prying her grasp but he knew that would upset her.

“Your clothes are soaked…” he whispered, hoping she would suggest a solution. No one was near enough to call for a servant to retrieve new clothes and he didn’t want to shout as it was the middle of the night. Or maybe he _should_ be yelling for help. As a smith for Lord Tully, he probably should have informed him as soon as Arya entered his room rather than entertaining her need for comfort. That was his duty to a lord, right? But what about his duty to Arya? As her friend?

His rambling thoughts were interrupted as she replied with a weak, “Cold…” and a follow-up shudder, burrowing further into him. With a sigh, he decided would have to do something about it on his own.

He knelt in front of her and started with her boots. The laces were wet and difficult to untie but he managed to pick at them until they released. By the time he was sliding her feet from the leather, her teeth were chattering loudly in his ear. In between bouts of her frigid quakes she would mutter, “Cold, cold,” over and over. He could only press his cheek against her frozen one and whisper, “I know, I know.” It was hard enough trying to get the slippery boots off without her clinging to him like a scared child.  

The socks inside her boots were dripping with rain water. Or at least that’s what he thought. _Did she fall in the river?_ He peeled the wool socks off and laid them flat on the floor. Her thin calves were pale and goose pimple-y. It felt wrong looking at her bare feet even if he had seen them a hundred times before covered in dirt or being dipped in river water. He glanced around his room as if searching for someone that would scold him for undressing Arya in his room alone. Gendry really hoped no one walked in as that would surely be the end of him.

Arya’s teeth still clashed together in his ear. Gendry didn’t have a clue of what to replace her clothes with. _The only clothes I have are mine._ His eyes landed on a shirt that draped over a nearby chair. Grabbing it he said, “Arya, you need to get out of those wet clothes if you want to be warmer…” he stuttered, “Y-you’ll have to change-,” swallowing hard, “in here. I have a shirt you can have…”

He touched her hand that remained tangled in his shirt and she lifted her head slowly from his shoulder. Her skin was so pale he thought she looked dead. The scrapes on her face illuminated in contrast. With a trembling voice, she answered, “Don’t leave me alone.” Her eyes flashed, frightened.

He shook his head, “I’ll stay here but I’m going to turn around…” Standing, he tried brushing off the awkward, frustration building in his gut. She stood with him still remaining effectively adhered to his proximity. “Uh… here.” He held out the shirt and abruptly turned in place so his back was to her.

Her hand was ripped from his front as he turned to give her privacy but it quickly found his hand. He returned her grasp but tried to keep her out of his mind as he heard the rustle of clothing. His eyes migrated to the ceiling uncomfortably. A few times her hand left his but almost as soon as it was gone, it returned.

 _I hope she isn’t taking off all of her clothes… Or perhaps her under garments were even wet._ He mentally slapped himself, _Stop thinking about_ Lady _Arya like that. You are merely serving her in a time of need and she certainly doesn’t need a man thinking about her inappropriately._ He shook his head and ignored the heat spreading in his body. Her hand jerked his like she had lost her balance and the top of his hand grazed her skin. Realizing it was her naked skin, he immediately tensed his body as if in attention and squeezed his eyes shut. _Damn it, hurry up already._ He blamed Damien for his stupid thoughts again.

He continued to focus his attention elsewhere until he felt her move so she was pressed against his arm. Cotton brushed his skin and he sighed in relief. “Are you finished?”

She nodded her head against him. Gendry quickly glanced back at her and then away in case she really wasn’t fully dressed. But to his relief, she was successfully in his shirt. As he turned again, the image of her hugging his arm, adorning his own shirt, had the effect of taking his breath away. He had been in the company of women, in the bedroom, but it wasn’t anything like what he was experiencing now. It was almost like she wasn’t even Arya; a different woman. It was strange to think of Arya as a woman even though she obviously was. He struggled to push the thought from his mind because Damien’s voice echoed mockingly: _“I know a man in love when I see one…”_  

He cleared his throat anxiously and said, “You should lie down now…”

Her eyes remained closed and for a heartbeat, he thought she was asleep. The closeness of her body was all too apparent and he wanted to get her away as soon as possible but also to keep her as close as she was for as long as he could. Everything was too confusing. _Gods, what is happening? This is still a dream, surely._

He rubbed his face with his free hand and took a deep breath banishing his thoughts. _She needs to get warm and go to sleep. Nothing more. Do that and be done._ With the strict agenda branded in his mind, he brought an arm around her shoulders purposefully and moved her back until she was sitting on the bed again. Gently moving his arm from her full body grasp resulted in a panicked whimper which he stifled by whispering, “I’m not leaving. I’m right here,” and holding her hand as he leaned her back against the pillows.

He noticed his shirt almost went to her knees as he helped her move her legs under the covers, pulling the hem up to her chest. He was glad he chose a thicker shirt for her as he could easily imagine seeing more feminine parts of her if it wasn’t. Sitting beside her on the bed brought him back to when they were in each other’s position. She took care of him when he was weak, so he would do the same for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I needed to split this scene up because it was becoming too long. I'll put the next part up ASAP.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically a continuation of the previous chapter.

Originally, her hair had been in a braid but must have relieved itself from its hold when she walked through the storm. It was strewn across the pillow, pieces hanging down her face. He didn’t think she had ever looked so young before. Even when he met her five years back, she looked younger than her ten-year-old self. Now it was like he was peering into a window set in her chest over her heart. He saw who she had been hiding: a sad, ten and five year old girl, who lost her family and had lost the heart she loved them with.

Soon, her eyes were open and watching him, looking like she wanted to say something. He took her chilled hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

Her voice was rough, forlorn, “Why did you save me?” A tear slid, as if on cue, down the side of her face. He stopped it from reaching her ear thoughtlessly, catching it with his thumb. _I saved you because… you’re all I have left?... I care about you?... I love you…_

His hand remained to the side of her head, his fingers lost in her hair. “Because you’re my friend, Arya.”

She stared a while longer, until her chin wobbled and the tears started down her face again. A sob broke through and brought her mouth into a deep, heartbreaking frown. She closed her eyes, turning her head away from his hand and laying an arm over her face. Her hand was clenched in a fist, fingernails digging into her palm. It seemed that she was trying to suppress her sorrow.

 _No, you aren’t doing this with me again. No more hiding._ “Come here,” he said, taking her hand and prying his fingers between the punished flesh and her nails. He pulled her upward into him. And he hugged her hard. Not like his unsure, surprise embrace from before she left, but a fully committed, intentional squeeze. He took her by surprise, halting her sob momentarily. But as soon as he had his arms securely wrapped around her, her hands took his shirt and her cry became more desperate and unrestrained. It was like before when she clung to him but it seemed that she was just waiting for the opportunity to fully entrust her sadness with him. Gendry was surprised and relieved that she wasn’t trying to resist him, but alarmed with her reaction.

She was shaking again but he didn’t know if it was from her break down or cold, or both. Between sobs he thought she was saying words but it was hard to make out. “Why did you-,” she choked, shaking her head. “Why-,” she stuttered, “I j-just wanted-,” he could feel her hot breath through his shirt, “I just wanted to be with _them_.” She finally got her words out in an overwhelming cry.

“I’m sorry, Arya.” He didn’t know what else to say. He couldn’t say anything that would bring her family back and he wasn’t anywhere as good a replacement for them. Her body was in a constant state of trembling which caused him to hold her more tightly, pressing her knuckles into his flesh. There was wool blankets folded on the floor that Maester Vyman left for him. He mentally thanked the old man and reached for one still holding Arya close. She didn’t seem to notice as he draped it over her exposed back and pulled it tightly toward him, placing them both in the cover of its warmth. He could feel her chilled skin through her clothing and his own.

“I wish I would have died with them. Th-that I didn’t have to become No One. I could be with them now…”

 _She wants to die?_ His voice came out more harshly than he intended, “No. I saved you for a reason. You aren’t dying because there are people who still need you.” He had pulled her away from him to look into her eyes. They were bright with tears and the grey in them were reflective of the rain clouds outside. He was thinking of her uncle and all that he had lost, not himself. It was absurd of him to forbid her death, but she wasn’t thinking straight. Arya was stronger than that.

Her crying had nearly stopped and her eyebrows plummeted angrily, “People who need _Arya Stark_. I am not Arya and I haven’t been since I became No One in Braavos.” He wanted to stop her from saying more because he was confused. He needed more time to process her words. “Arya Stark wouldn’t dislike the cold! She would embrace it and find strength with it!” She pulled his hands from her shoulders, knocking the blanket from her, “Stark’s words are ‘Winter is coming.’ If I can’t find comfort with the cold, what does that make me? _Not a Stark._ ”

She hiccupped through a sob threatening to smother her honorable argument, “Arya Stark wouldn’t be afraid of people dying or blood or _stupid_ dreams. She wouldn’t be afraid of the illusions of her dead family or blood in a bath tub or…or…,” she was beginning to lose steam but she took a deep breath and continued, “or you being killed in a dream! She wouldn’t be losing sleep over a dumb maester and his dagger…” she had been using her hands to help present her defense but now she had her head bent, looking at them lying in her lap, the gashes along her forearms still bright red. Gendry had no idea she was struggling so much. He was still trying to absorb everything, though, all he seemed to be getting was that she didn’t think she was Arya. A story she told him when he was sleeping had the name “No One” in it, but he couldn’t remember who it was.

While he racked his brain for the answer, she sniffed and whispered, “I can’t be Arya. She’s brave and _fearless_. She had a heart… She deserved love.” The last words shattered something like a bottle containing everything he was searching for in his memories.

 _She became No One in Braavos to become a faceless man for some reason and when she was No One, she had to forget everything and everyone. If that was a requirement to “be No One,” then she wouldn’t know who he was._ “Arya, who am I?” he said quickly. She met him when she “was still Arya,” before she got training to become this “No One”. He still didn’t fully understand the concept.

Her eyes stared at his chest, uncertainty shadowing her features, “I don’t understand-,”

He moved closer, anxious to know if his assumption was correct and he knew what she meant, “Just answer me.” His eagerness could have been mistaken for excitement. He took her hand, urging her to answer, “Who am I?”

She tipped her face looking up at him. They were closer than he had thought and he swallowed hard. Arya whispered softly, “You’re Gendry.” There was no explanation for why he smiled so much when she said his name.

“Yes, I am. That means you are Arya because No One wouldn’t know who I am. Right?”

Her eyes filled with tears again, just waiting to spill. “I don’t know… I don’t know who I am…”

She was peering at him through wet eye lashes, doubtful. “You are Arya because-,” He needed more evidence. He needed to convince her of who she was, so he spoke confidently, “because Arya _is_ brave and fearless. _You_ are brave and fearless. Maester Vyman called you brave when you left.”

“Brave people don’t cry or run away…” she sniffed.

“Brave people, like you, are strong even when bad things happen. And it’s perfectly normal to be afraid. The people who love-,” he paused, choking on the unintentional use of the word and continuing alternatively, “…the people who care about you will be there to help you. Sometimes the only way to stay strong is to rely on others…” he rubbed her hand, attempting to solidify his argument, “Everyone in Riverrun thinks you’re brave. You watched me nearly die but you stayed anyway. I would have left a long time ago. In fact, I left to find your antidote because I wasn’t-,” the words spewing from his mouth became a self-revelation, “-because I wasn’t brave enough to watch you die.” The pressure of the situation must have made him more prone to telling the truth. It seemed to be helping her out of her slump so he continued mindlessly, “You are the bravest person I’ve ever met. I don’t know who No One is, but the person I see now and have seen defending her uncle and Riverrun and taking care of me is the strongest and most courageous person ever. I can’t thank you enough for saving me, curse or no curse,” he couldn’t stop his mouth but he could see something changing in her eyes, “And, you _are_ a Stark. Even Starks feel cold. Wolves do, too. And crying isn’t such a bad thing. Anyone would cry in your place… me included.” He added hastily.

Taking a deep breath, he was ready to gush more but she stopped him, saying, “Why do you care so much?”

As much as he wanted to tell her the absolute truth, he knew now wasn’t the time. He grinned, “You never listen, do you? I already told you, you’re my friend.” He paused, watching the water build in her eyes and again, as it cascaded down her melancholy expression. “You don’t have to be alone anymore. You have your uncle and you have me.”

He didn’t think he would have been able to say any of that to the normal Arya. And he certainly didn’t think she would have let him hold her so close. She had begun crying again but it seemed detached and more tired. He had pulled the blanket back over her shoulders and gathered her up in his embrace.

“I’m sorry…” she whimpered, nestling her face under his chin against his throat. “I’m sorry you got sick b-because of me. I’m sorry for everything…”

He shook his head against her hair, taking in the scent of pine and dirt. “No, it isn’t your fault. Nothing that has happened to your family or me is your fault,” he said over her uncontrollable weeping, “none of it.”

Her shaking returned and he was afraid if he let go, she would fall apart. Holding her tighter pressed her skinny body into him, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt, and her shoulder blades penetrating the thickness of the blanket. He rocked her back and forth like a mother soothing a child’s worries.

She continued to cry for a long time but eventually it faded, making him almost not realize it had stopped. Her head was snug under his chin and he could feel her now steady breathing, softly brush his skin. Cuddling Arya for the purpose of comfort encouraged his newly found feelings. He thought he was being compassionate and kind to a friend and high lady, but his heart was beginning to tell him otherwise. _She has been latched on to me the whole night, too. Even if she was upset, she could have gone to someone else’s room or her uncle or someone… I should be honored that a high lady came to me for consoling. Even if it’s Arya…_

He realized when he laid her back down, it would probably be the last time he ever got to hold her that way and he felt sad. _So I do love her._ He wished he had known earlier. Taking a deep breath and cherishing the moment of her completely reliant on him and the way she was snuggled up against him, he slipped his hand up behind her head, under the damp mess of hair, and gently let the pillow replace his caring embrace. His body followed hers down to the bed to assure a smoother transfer. He hovered an inch from her as he tenderly released her fingers from his front and sat back up. It felt as though he was detaching his heart from her as well, the emptiness in his chest and the meaningless of his arms’ became more apparent.

He studied her hands and arms avoiding her face as it would lure him back to her. After examining her cuts he didn’t think they needed any urgent attention so he took another of his shirts and ripped the bottom into ribbons. _I won’t have any shirts left after tonight_. There was a bowl of water, probably for his fever, he dipped a piece of cloth in and wiped away the mud that smeared her arms and hands. He very gently dabbed the cloth through her open cuts, hoping they wouldn’t become infected.

As he took the cotton and bandaged her arm, all the way down to her palm, he began replaying the happenings of the night. He questioned how she got to his room, how she hurt herself, and in general, everything she had said. He didn’t know what she meant when she listed all of the things that had made her cry; “ _the illusions of her dead family or blood in a bath tub or you being killed in a dream.”_ Also, the No One that they discussed was still mostly a mystery. He would have to wait to ask her about all these things and hope for some truth and explanation.

He thought Maester Vyman would be proud of his binding work as he finished. Finally, he shyly looked upon her face. It was sodden with tears and half dried blood. He carefully dabbed at the rough patch on her cheek and around her exhausted eyes. A long fluttering sigh hissed from between her lips, ending in a trembling gasp. He was worried she would wake up and start to cry again, so he quickly took her swaddled hand and touched her face with his fingertips lightly. He shushed her, whispering, “I’m here, Arya.”

She must have sensed his hand because she turned her face, nuzzling into it like a wolf cub into its mother’s fur. His stomach lurched as her lips moved against his palm mouthing, “Don’t leave me alone…” His shirt had been pulled from her shoulder and he looked at her pale, flawless skin. If a singer was in his place, he would certainly compose a song of this moment. He didn’t know why that thought crossed his mind and he smiled at the reaction Arya would surely have. _She is very beautiful,_ he thought, blushing.

Sitting back up again with a heavy sigh, he reluctantly removed his hand from her still emotionally flushed face and gently brushed some hair back behind her ear. Her shoulder was still exposed so he unclasped her hand and gingerly cinched up the string at the top of the shirt, tying it. Then, he tucked her arms away under the warmth of the blankets. After standing and blowing out the candle he cautiously made his way to the other side of the bed. The storm must have let up and allowed the moon to make a bright appearance as there was ample light spilling through the cracks of his covered window. He couldn’t leave her alone and there wasn’t really any other choice. In order to make things clear for himself and anyone that might enter his chamber and see them in bed together, he took a pillow and stuffed it beside Arya and then climbed in, keeping as far to the edge as possible. His bed wasn’t large but it could easily hold him and Arya and a pillow.

Gendry laid on his back staring at his ceiling for a moment before turning his gaze on Arya. His chest felt lighter as if everything he told her tonight had been waiting to be said for a long time and he didn’t know it. He was forced to learn things about himself he didn’t think he would have ever discovered if this hadn’t happened.

Her face was turned toward him, his pillow and bed swallowing her up so he almost couldn’t see her. It was so hard for him to still comprehend that she was really in his bed. He hoped to all the gods that this wasn’t a dream and Arya was really back at Riverrun.

He watched her eyebrows pull together again as if she was concerned with something someone said. His hand traveled over the pillow and to her, searching for her hand that lay on top of her belly. He hesitated, watching her face for perhaps a silent invitation. But she whimpered in reply to his courtesy and he grazed his fingers along her arm being careful of the cotton wrap, until he found her fingers. Her skin was still cold but he laced his fingertips between her knuckles and grasped tightly, transferring his warmth to her.

Since the storm stopped, there was no sound other than her gentle breathing. He felt her stomach rise and fall beneath his hand. His previously sleepless night, pressuring stress, and effort to comfort Arya was making him aware of his exhaustion. He yawned and stroked Arya’s chilly hand with his thumb. _Please don’t let this be a dream…_


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized that I didn't warn people of some book spoilers in previous chapters... I'm so sorry!! There are similar spoilers in this chapter. Granted, these spoilers aren't super influential in Arya's storyline, but still... sorry again!

The events of her family replayed in her dreams, though she didn’t feel afraid as before. When she was there, beside the river with the remnants of her family, she felt alone in the way of knowing the people she was with could not offer the company she wished for. But now, in her dream she saw them through blurry lenses. Someone’s voice whispered like the stormy wind and blew their figures into things she could mold into what she wanted. She left them blank because they were less threatening that way. They could have become her family again, but she didn’t want to lie to herself. She would be brave and become Arya again.

The voice told her why she was brave but it was different from what she was familiar. Arya was brave because she didn’t cry and she didn’t care if she saw blood or scary things. But he told her she was brave because she _endured_ crying and caring and being scared. It didn’t make sense, yet she felt the hole of her heart taking those things and packing them into the corners.

When she woke up, everything she thought before was forgotten. Her body woke very slowly, lumbering out of the deepest slumber she had experienced for as long as she could remember. She felt warm and beyond comfortable. For a moment she thought she could be dead, but recognized she was in a bed. Though, she didn’t know where that bed had come from. She thought of the Kindly Man teaching her how to be aware of her surroundings. The trial of blindness she experienced forced her to become reliant on weaker senses and in this case, it was similar. She left her eyes closed as she surveyed her situation.

Perhaps someone found her while she wandered in the storm and brought her back to their home? She couldn’t remember anything after she left the dreaded area her family revealed themselves. The bed was soft and comforting but then she realized she wasn’t wearing her clothes. And for a panicked moment, she thought she wasn’t wearing anything at all. But she soon felt cloth bunched under her armpits and a thin layer separated her hands from the skin of her belly. She sighed, relieved her fate hadn’t become more victimized.

Then, she realized a hand lying over hers and recognized it immediately. _Gendry._ She didn’t open her eyes yet to be sure. There was no doubt it was Gendry as her senses took note of more supporting evidence; the mint smell that clung to his skin, the soft breathing of sleep and the warmth he shared beneath their covers. Convinced, she finally peeked through her eyelashes.

His eyes were closed and his mouth slightly agape as if he had been reading something very interesting. He wasn’t close to her, but his heat was strong enough to warm the sanctuary residing under the blankets. Habit forced her to look at his face for symptoms of fever but he looked perfectly normal. His face was pale, but it was the type of pale that comes with peaceful unconsciousness. The shadows of his eyelashes cast out like fishing lines down his cheekbones. She watched dust motes float delicately through the morning light beams into his hair and she found herself fighting the urge to rustle his strands and watch them dance away.

Memories were beginning to creep back of what she thought was a dream. Words of comfort she heard, gestures of kindness she felt and understanding silence she appreciated, but hadn’t remembered were all from Gendry. She wanted to cry again. Not like the night before, but to just cry.

She couldn’t remember how she got to his room but he took it upon himself to care for her and she could remember why. The desperate loneliness and fear of staying alone was heavy when she left her imagined family reunion. She groaned inwardly thinking of how she may have acted and what she might have said.

She turned away from him and racked her brain for the next step. She couldn’t lay in Gendry’s bed forever. He would wake eventually and she shouldn’t be here, at least not in the same place. She decided on carefully slipping from the bed with one last look at Gendry and a soft squeeze of his hand. His shirt practically drowned her but she liked how it felt. With a close eye on Gendry, she changed quickly, back into her damp clothes he had laid out to dry. Another stroke of embarrassment hit her as she thought about how she even got into his shirt. _Why am I blushing like a maid? Stop being such a girl._ She shook the awkward tension from her stomach.

Quietly opening the door, she looked back at his sleeping figure and resolved she would need to thank him. Though, she knew she could never fully repay him.

As she left the barracks, she anxiously remembered that everyone thought she had left and would be confused with her surprise appearance. _Gods, Uncle Brynden is a whole other issue._ Worry knotted her gut. Instead of prowling like she was trying to look suspicious, she walked confidently hoping people would assume she had returned and everything was back to normal. She strolled through the serving men and women who stopped their morning routines to stare at her. When she arrived at her tower’s door she broke into a run up the spiraling staircase. Sleep had settled in her muscles from her restful slumber but the dizziness that caused her to slow down before the top reminded her that one night of sleep wouldn’t recover her completely.

She pressed an ear against her door to be sure Cera wasn’t packing away her abandoned belongings or something similar. Once she thought it was safe, she entered and her room looked as she left it. Her uncle was probably going to leave it untouched for a long time in hopes of her returning. She sighed at that thought and quickly changed again, tossing her mud encrusted rags to the floor. Her hair was a mess but she braided it hastily, ignoring the dried mud falling from it as she separated the strands. She must have looked a ridiculous mess to the servants outside. The sores on her arms were beginning to be more painful and her body was slowly revealing its weakness from the night before and the accumulation of the past few weeks. The bandages Gendry must have wrapped stayed securely bound on the skin she couldn’t see, but knew was ugly. Remembering that her father’s unknown armor was the culprit, she suppressed a full body shiver. She took her time descending the stairs this time.

Walking through the puddles was like shattering round, sky blue panes of glass as the morning weather reflected brightly. People were still gawking at her but she ignored them already making her way to her next destination. It didn’t take much to find the kitchen as the smell of freshly baked bread lured her seductively. Again, the servants stared at her as if they had just watched her crawl from her grave. Perhaps it was like that for them.

She strode to the most authoritative looking person there and simply asked, “Two breakfast plates, please.”

He was a large, hairy man with an eyebrow that looked like it was sprouting horse hair instead of human hair. She was satisfied with his emotionless grunt and immediate action. Everyone else in the room stared a moment longer and then fell back into motion. As she stood waiting, she was thinking of the conversation she would have with Gendry. He might have questions and she wasn’t sure how far she could go with telling him. She wanted to trust him but her chest ached reluctantly. _He was supportive and kind even when he didn’t know what was happening._ The thought of being alone like last night made her fidget for company. After her break down she felt different. Like all the crying had let off some pressure but she wasn’t all too sure why. Certainly, sharing her worries and fears helped but she was still too proud or withdrawn or _brave_ to rely on anyone with her thoughts.

Lost in her doubts, she forgot about the food. The large cook reminded her with a heavy pat on the shoulder. She replied with, “Thank you,” and a quick smile.

The beast of a man grinned monstrously displaying gnarly, woody teeth, “Good to see you back, m’lady.” She could feel the grumble of his chest from where she stood over a foot away from him.

“Uh, thank you.” She stuttered, backing out, watching the rest of the kitchen helpers nod and smile in her direction. Once outside, she felt the smile still lingering on her face. She hadn’t realized any of the common people even acknowledged her existence.

As she walked toward the barracks, men were beginning to clang swords together and converse over steaming cups of liquid. Their breaths came out in white puffs mixing with the chilly morning air. The steam on the food also billowed upwards and back into her face as she walked into its savory scent. Her stomach grumbled loudly.

“M’lady! I didn’t know you were back!” A familiar yellow head of hair bowed to her right nearly causing her to lose the dishes on the muddy ground.

She almost swore but stopped herself and searched her mind frantically for his name, “Umm, good morning, umm…” she paused to cough, giving her the time needed to pull his name from the corner of her head, “Damien.” She smiled again, politely tipping her head.

He straightened from his bow, towering over her, probably more than Gendry. He smiled in return, replying lightly, “Are you on your way to see Gendry?”

As soon as she nodded, he was turned around, walking away, and shouting over his shoulder, “Good idea! Have a nice day!” She stood looking after him for a while longer but continued to Gendry’s chamber. _What a strange man._

The plates balanced in her hands as she climbed the stairs to Gendry’s room. Her stomach was doing acrobatics as she neared. She wasn’t sure what she was going to say and she wasn’t sure what he was going to say. For some reason, she thought their relationship had changed because of her breakdown. _Do I want it to change? Do I want to trust him?_  She didn’t give herself the chance to answer. Instead, took a deep, worried breath and entered the room, pushing her back into the door.


	26. Chapter 26

When she was safely passed the door frame with the two plates, she turned to face him, resulting in her almost dropping their breakfast again. Gendry was staring at her with big, round eyes, his mouth open in astonishment. She knew that look. _He thought I left again._

She brushed it off and puffed her chest out with confidence. _I’m just going to thank him and be done._ Her walk was purposeful but her mind was panicking despite her brief pep talk. “Good morning. I brought you breakfast.” She spoke nonchalantly, putting her lying skills to the test.

He stared longer, his blue eyes piercing her calm pretense. “C’mon, I’m really here. Stop staring at me like I was resurrected by Dondarrion.” Her voice quavered just the slightest near the end so she quickly plopped Gendry’s plate on to his lap and promptly turned away toward the window. She set her breakfast on a nearby chair and pulled the window open. The air cooled her head enough for her to face him again. He wasn’t staring at her anymore but down at the plate.

Exasperation was beginning to creep into her. She pulled the chair up to the bed and sat with her own steaming food, anxiously waiting to be eaten. “Gendry,” she said. It was beginning to feel like the night she left; she was trying to thank him, but he wouldn’t look at her and she was feeling lonelier and lonelier by the second. She took a deep breath, _calm as still water_ , and pushed the memory away, remembering that she wasn’t actually leaving this time. “Gendry, I’m not leaving. I’m staying here.”

He tipped his head back, looking up at his ceiling, a long sigh whistling through his nose. “Good.” He blinked and looked at her again, “Don’t do it again. Please.” His voice was soft, pleading. The window’s light reflected brightly in his eyes and they were doing that thing where she thought they could see through her false intentions again.

The hole where her heart used to be, clawed painfully at the inside of her chest. “I won’t.” she replied quietly. She had to look away because tears threatened to surface again. _Calm as still water._

She heard the scrape of fork and knife as Gendry began to cut apart his sausages. “This looks good. Is this what normal high ladies and lords get for breakfast?” His voice sounded normal and playful but she could hear a tinge of strain as if that wasn’t what he really wanted to say. But she ignored it and went along with his effort.

“Oh c’mon. You know you could get all of this if you asked for it.” She glanced at him and found a smile on his face. She smiled back and added, “Or you could just make it yourself.” She cut her own sausage and shoved it in her mouth. The salty seasonings filled every place in her mouth, triggering a pleasant watering. “Gods, that tastes good.” She whispered dreamily.

Gendry chuckled and closed his eyes in pleasure. He seemed to be as hungry as she was. With another enormous bite she mumbled, “How are you feeling?” The curse she was so sure of the night before had faded almost to inexistence. But it still tapped quietly in the back of her mind.

“I’m fine. I haven’t coughed for a whole day and after this food I’ll be fit enough to fight an army.” His smile was still there, but he watched her carefully.

She pushed a piece of meat through the runny yolk of an egg, answering, “You do look better. I don’t know about fighting an army, though. Maybe that Damien. He would probably be lured away by a beetle on the ground before it even began.”

She expected laughter but heard nothing. She was worried she offended him so she looked up from her swimming sausage to apologize and found his cheeks burning. “Has he said anything to you?” he asked, his voice a whisper.

Confusion and concern clenched her belly, “Not really. Are you all right? Is the fever coming back?” She reached toward him and touched his cheek with her knuckles. His eyes grew wide and he looked away and then back. He was warm but not fever-warm. His eyes were bluer against his red complexion. The hair of his unkempt beard tickled her fingers and she thought she should stop touching him. But her eyes remained locked on his and she didn’t feel the need to draw away from him. _Now was the time to thank him._ Her hand fell from his face and landed on his arm along his wrist. She cleared her throat and said, “Gendry, I wanted to thank you for last night.” She couldn’t keep his gaze anymore so she looked down at her hand, “I appreciate - ,” _What did she want to say?_ She could feel heat rising to her face.

“It’s fine, Arya. I don’t mind - ,” he began, but she interrupted determined to thank him properly.

“No, I’m going to do this right. Thank you for…” she paused again, scrambling for words, “…for being my friend. And listening to whatever I said. I don’t really remember what I said but I know you were kind enough to - ,” _calm as still water,_ “to take care of me.” She let out a breathless sigh, “I appreciate it.”

By the end, her shoulders were scrunched up to her ears and her face burning. Uncertain if the silence following her appreciation was due to his near laughter or utter embarrassment, she hesitantly raised her eyes to his. Gendry was smiling brilliantly, dimples creasing the skin under his facial hair. She hadn’t realized his hand had moved over hers until he squeezed it and replied lightly, "Anytime.” His touch moved something in her and it triggered a small smile to pull at her lips. He sighed and tilted his head speaking matter-of-factly, “Besides, you did take care of me for a really long time. It was the least I could do.”

Her smile faded at his misled assumption. “I didn’t take care of you. Maester Vyman did. I sat there literally doing nothing.” She said, keeping her voice steady. She knew where this was going and she didn’t want it to go any further.

He rolled his eyes to her annoyance. He continued bluntly, “You sat by my bed day and night - .”

“Sitting by you doesn’t _heal_ you.”

He sighed, “Arya, you did more than just sit by me. You talked to me - .”

“Talking to you doesn’t heal you, either.”

“Arya, stop interrupting me. I’m trying to tell you how you _did_ heal me. You told me stories - .”

“Telling stories never healed anyone.” The panic building from each instance he spoke of was causing her to interfere with his own gratitude. She knew full well what she was doing at the time when he was sick, but her instinct was telling her that it was troublesome if he was aware of her actions, too.

“Gods, Arya. Would you just shut up for two minutes? I’m trying to thank you! You got to tell me so why can’t I tell you?” he growled, letting go of her hand and crossing his arms.

Irritation heated her face again, her voice came out in a huff, “I didn’t _do anything_. I was the whole reason you got sick in the first place. Why would you thank me for that? I know you’re stupid, but I didn’t know how stupid until just now.”

He was looking up at the ceiling again, a deep, angry frown dipping almost to his jaw. His voice didn’t correspond with his expression as he whispered, “I am the one that got sick. You didn’t give me it. I was out in rain and cold and wind. If you want to blame someone for me getting sick, blame the elements.” He uncrossed his arms and ran his fingers through his hair, “Arya, you have to stop blaming yourself for everything that happens.”

His anger had dissipated and she could feel the warmth from him again like they were under the blankets. He continued, saying, “If you keep blaming yourself for the misfortune of everyone, you’re going to hurt yourself. You aren’t a god. It isn’t your place to take the responsibility for the mistakes of others. You can’t stop people from dying -,”

“Yes, I can. I could have saved my whole family if I had been there -,”

“ _If_ you had been there. Arya, I have no doubt you could have saved them but you couldn’t have been there. Your family was in the wrong place at the wrong time. You can’t change that.” He was still speaking softly like he was telling a child something that would steal their innocence. It irritated her more.

She continued, insistent on proving him wrong, “But it’s different this time. Instead of being there to prevent bad things, I shouldn’t have been there at all. If I hadn’t come to Acorn Hall, you wouldn’t have gotten into this situation.”

“But there’s always the possibility that if I was still at Acorn Hall something worse would have happened. And the fact that you _were_ here saved me… so I take back what I said before. You were here with me when I was sick and that -,” he stopped to look away, the red returning to his cheeks, “you saved me. I know you don’t understand, but I think I was _really_ close to dying the second time I woke up.”

The anger was softening now and her chest was tightening at the memory of that night. “I do know.”

“You do?” he answered, taken aback.

She nodded, whispering, “You were talking about your mother and Maester Vyman said you were giving up.”

It was silent in the room for a moment and sadness began to pick at her like she was a scabbed knee. _I need to leave._

He spoke tentatively before she could make her escape, “I _was_ giving up and I would have if you hadn’t been there to talk me out of it.” Then, he chuckled, “In fact, I was genuinely mad at you,” She was quiet and confused but he continued almost unsure of himself, “but it was strange because your voice woke me up or something…it was kind of like the dream I had, but not really… it’s hard to explain -,”

The subject of dreams shocked her mind curiously. It had been the longest since she thought of the dagger dream and she was wondering what Gendry had dreamt, if there was a connection to her own, and if it could lead to finding a meaning. “What dream?” she asked.

He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously, taking her by surprise. “I’ll only tell you if you tell me about your dreams.”

She was startled at his comment and the bargaining purpose of it. He didn’t know about the dagger dream… did he?

He answered her question as if reading her mind, “You told me about a dream where I died and also a bloody bathtub or illusions of your family… I don’t know if that’s all from a dream but if you want me to tell you mine, you have to tell me yours.” His mouth pressed together in a stubborn line.

It took all her will power to keep her jaw from sagging in disbelief. _He knows everything._ She masked her internal regret with equal will. “I don’t want to know about your dream _that_ badly. So I don’t need to tell you.” They glared at one another like children playing a silly game of Claim the Castle, waiting for the other to show a glimmer of weakness.

Again, Gendry let go of his anger first and tried reasoning like before. His tone was exasperated, “Arya, you’re going to let your stress get out of control again and you’ll end up like last night. Just talk to me. I told you I was here for you because I’m your friend -,” he kept eye contact but that same blush rushed to his cheeks, “and I care about you.”

His words still brought about denial, but the hole where her heart used to be quivered insistently. He was searching her eyes, waiting. What would he do if she told him she didn’t believe him? That she was still hurt by his choice to stay with the Brotherhood over her? How selfish would that make her? Those blue eyes stayed persistent and it dissolved her doubts. _Damn it._ “Fine,” she concluded, “but I’m only going to tell you when I want. And right now, I don’t want to.”

He rolled his eyes and grumbled, “You better not be just saying that so you never actually tell me.”

She sighed, “I’ll tell you about it later today. I promise.” She would tell him but she wouldn’t tell him all of it.

“When?” he said, eyes squinting again like he didn’t believe her.

“ _Later._ I need to -,” her stomach bunched up at her current thought, “find my uncle…”

He gasped, startling her, “You haven’t told him you’re back yet?” She watched him wide eyed as he flung his covers back and pulled himself and her to their feet in one fluid motion, dragging her towards the door. Their plates clattered together as Gendry stacked them messily. “You need to go _right now_. I can’t believe you came here first!”

Everything moved so fast and her body was reacting to the sudden thought of seeing her uncle without preparation. She didn’t know if he’d be mad and if he was, what she would say. She stuttered, “W-wait! I’m not ready to yet!”

He whipped his head around, his eyes alight with frustration. He spoke, breathless, “What?”

They were at the door, Gendry’s hand on the handle ready to toss her out. She spoke softly, almost embarrassed, “I-I’m not ready to see him yet. I’m worried he’s going to be mad. And I don’t know how I’m -,”

“He won’t be mad. He might be mad that you didn’t come see him first, but he’ll definitely be relieved. If you want to make him happy, you need to go to him -,” his words were cut off as shouting reached his room from the window.

Her stomach jumped into her throat as the familiar voice of the Blackfish touched her ears. The last time she saw him, betrayal and hurt were sketched into his face as she turned her back on him and ran. _Please don’t be mad, please don’t be mad._ The door to the barracks banged loudly, causing her to jump and step back. She felt like an animal being cornered, nowhere to go. _He must be angry if he’s making that much noise. And I’m scared to face him…_

She hadn’t noticed Gendry near her until he spoke, “Arya, don’t worry,” he took her hand and squeezed it, “don’t be afraid -.”

  At that moment, the door flew open and her Uncle Brynden was standing with his hands flat against the frame as if holding the whole building from falling. Gendry was gone and she stood, frozen. The Blackfish strode forward in a flash and smothered her in a hug. He was too quick for her to gauge his emotions or even flinch away.

“Arya -,” his voice had so many feelings. The grumble in his voice resonated through his chest and in his arms around her shoulders; grief and happiness, desperation and contentment; but no anger. Gendry was right, he was relieved and so was she.

The tears she had been fighting since she woke, finally made their way down her cheeks and she welcomed them. She returned his embrace and felt like a child when she could barely reach his shoulders. _I am a child, only a child would run away._

“I’m sorry I ran away. I’m sorry…” she choked making her emotions apparent. The Lord of Riverrun responded with a tighter hold, jolting the emotions and fear and memories from the night before. She would never tell him of it but she clutched him, relishing in the warmth of someone who loved her.

“Just don’t do it again.” He whispered by her ear. A sob broke from her throat when she tried responding so she just shook her head against his shoulder.

Her uncle’s warm embrace coaxed memories of her father to the surface, his own loving gestures imprinted in the body that lived life after life, name after name. None of them ever knowing the real love of family; except Arya Stark. _Me, Arya Stark. I am Arya and I have an uncle that I love and he loves me._

Acceptance of her identity and love for her uncle swelled her chest like wind fluttering through clouds, billowing them up and up until they were full and happy. For the first time since she was taken from Winterfell, she felt truly happy, complete. Like her family was together and safe and nothing could take that away, as naïve as it seemed. Through her crying she heard the faintest sound, characteristic of a beating drum and the slightest fragment of something knocking on the inside of her chest, hesitantly asking for permission to reappear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I began posting this fanfic, I had written everything up to this chapter. Obviously, I took quite a while to post some of it due to editing. Like, I literally have a whole new document with alternate versions of some parts that is over 6,000 words. This is partly because of feedback I received from all of the lovely people who are keeping up with this story. PLEASE continue to give me more feedback in the comments. Whether it's constructive or you have predictions for where the story might go, I like to read these and have them impact the story. It also motivates me to keep going! Because jeez Louise, this story is a lot longer than I intended.
> 
> So, thanks readers! Keep being fabulous!


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter reveals more of the story to come! More has been revealed about the dagger and the plot to bring the owner to justice! Woo! Revenge! Intrigue! Maybe death!

The Lord of Riverrun took her from Gendry’s room after their reconciliation, out passed the training yard and up steep, stone stairs to the top of the great walls facing the Red Fork. The sun was slowly making its way to the peak of the day, shimmering in the Blackfish’s silver hair. A crisp breeze carried the smell of fresh plants flourishing from the recent rain up to them on their perch.

Her Uncle Brynden was looking out towards the river, watching its waves play among the rocks that nestled in its path. He hadn’t said much after what happened in Gendry’s room which would have worried her, but the relaxed set of his mouth, that was neither a frown nor a smile, erased her concern. She still let her hand remain tucked in the crook of his arm.

Finally, he spoke hesitantly, “Arya, I don’t blame you for running away -,”

“- you should blame me! I was so stupid for thinking -,” he hushed her with a raised hand. She gazed at him guiltily.

“Now, I know you were mad at me for not telling the truth. And it still baffles me at how well you can do that… but, I regret lying to you. It was not kind, nor fair to keep something so important from you.”

She snuck in a few groveling words, “I was acting like a spoiled brat, though…”

He continued, ignoring her, “I lied about the bird in the dagger pommel because…” he finally turned toward her, the initial contentment in his expression gone and his face tight, “I know the owner.”

There was nothing between them other than the soft breeze that seemed colder and the faint sound of water breaking on the rocky shore. She felt as though the world stopped and it was putting all its energy into pressing itself on her body. _He knows? He’s known all this time?_

She couldn’t sense what her face looked like, but her uncle made it clear it wasn’t pleasant. He continued cautiously, “The reason I didn’t tell you, was because I’ve known him for years. More years than he has known me. I know you don’t understand, but I know what you want to do to him if you find him and -.”

“Do you, uncle? Do you know I want to cause him as much pain as he caused me? _And Gendry?_ ” Her rage shook her voice. She was lost in disbelief, the feeling of complete trust and understanding she was experiencing before this, gone.

“Now Arya -,”

“This isn’t one of my vendettas I’m sure you’re so keen on believing I have on this person. I am not the child I was when I lost my family. He hasn’t become a target of interest because he treated me with petty cruelty, or he had an indirect impact on my family’s fate.” She paused, taking a breath, “But this man or whomever tried to kill me also, almost killed Gendry. He attacked me personally, and it is only right to repay the favor.” She was impressed with her control, despite the emotional vibe causing the vein in her neck to pulsate sporadically.

The Lord of Riverrun stood quietly, patiently waiting for his opportunity of input. When she finished he waited a moment longer for good measure and then continued calmly, “I know, Arya. That is why I will tell you the person and even invite them here.”

She had no words for response so he continued, “But there are conditions, and you must follow them or I will personally defend him.” First, there was a deal with Gendry and now her uncle. Is that what it took for people to trust her? She honestly didn’t blame them.

She met his gaze and let the anger dissipate. “I will agree if these conditions include me questioning him myself,” she said slowly.

He smiled, sighing, “Of course, my lady. But if your questioning turns into a violent interrogation, I will strip you of your privileges and make you a proper lady.”

She rolled her eyes, waving her hand dismissively, “I know, I know.”

His eyebrows dropped severely, humor gone, “I mean it. One move of intentionally harming him, and I will domesticate you like a hunting hound.”

His bushy grey eyebrows darkened his face. He was already trying to tame her, without even knowing. Her father would have acted the same, chiding her for her irrationality. She felt like a child again, and for once, she greeted it.

A genuine smile crossed her face as she replied, “I promise to do as I’m told. I won’t harm him without your approval.”

His fatherly expression disappeared but he remained serious, replying, “Good. The man I’m speaking of is an old friend of your mother’s and of this family. He is living in the Vale as Lord Protector over your cousin, Lord Robyn Arryn. In the past, he was Master of Coin in King’s Landing and was in good relations with your father…”

The Blackfish wasn’t looking at her as he spouted all of this trivial information. She had no idea who the Lord Protector of the Vale was or who the Master of Coin was; it was beginning to feel like a history lesson.

She crossed her arms impatiently and received a heavy sigh from her uncle. “I’m trying to give you an understanding of his importance with your family and the realm, Arya.”  

“I don’t give a rat’s arse about the realm -,”

“Fine, fine! I’m just prancing around like a green boy in a tournament…” Brynden took in a deep breath and concluded, “Petyr Baelish. He is the one who owns the blade.”

Her mind raced in remembrance of the man she spotted in King’s Landing, always whispering either to her father or everyone else. She recalled never liking the way he smiled, like he was trying to gain something from the person he directed his fraudulent smirks toward. And he was such a small man; too small to contain all of the confidence he failed to hide.

“Where is he now?” she asked. It was the only question she could muster amidst the deep thinking she was currently experiencing.

“He is at the Vale as Lord Protector -,”

Another memory, more recent, shot to the surface as she blurted, “Were you going to sign a treaty with him?” Her uncle opened his mouth to reply but she continued with her thought process, “After you _knew_ he was the one who was responsible for my poisoning? I can’t believe - .”

“No. I would never do that. I didn’t know until you showed me the blade and the bird inside the pommel. _I did not know.”_ He had gripped her arms as if trying to emphasize his sincerity, but she still felt unsure. Her uncle was searching her eyes and he knew she didn’t believe him so he declared, “As your uncle, you must believe that I would never betray you to that extent. I wouldn’t ever come to peaceful terms with a man who hurt you.” Eyes as blue as her mother’s bore into her, full of truth.

“I believe you.” She replied, watching his tensed shoulders relax. She continued, his stare becoming too intense, “How are you going to get him to come here? If he knows I’m here, how will you convince him?”

Lord Tully’s previous seriousness completely disappeared as he grinned, chuckling, “Oh, you’re not going to like what my plans are, but you don’t have a choice.” His smirk widened at the terror she was surely displaying, and he chortled, “We will be having a feast in honor of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wouldn't be surprised if the majority of you knew who the dagger belonged to (I've given plenty of hints) but you have to remember that Arya didn't give a single dingleberry about politics in King's Landing, and she has been disconnected from Westeros for the past several years. I'm hoping I can clarify the state of the iron throne in soon-to-come chapters (which I don't expect to impact the story very much).


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it has taken me so long to get another chapter up. Arya and Gendry discuss their dreams and their significance, and it's always fun writing interaction between them. :)

“Can you believe that?” She had just finished rehashing her Uncle Brynden’s conniving plan for luring Petyr Baelish to Riverrun. Gendry was in the middle of devouring a plate of honeyed chicken she brought as a meal, when she revealed the source of her current irritation. His choking laughter deepened her aggravation, and the punch she planted in his shoulder increased his amusement. “You would think the Lord of Riverrun could be a little cleverer with his scheming.”

Gendry breathed through his laughing fit and mused, “I think it’s a great idea. Just because you don’t like it, doesn’t mean it won’t work.” She shook her head stubbornly and he offered, “I’m sure it won’t be as bad as you’re making it out to be. Everyone will be celebrating your return and it will give me the chance to share your lovely company, m’lady.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled, his jape lightening her mood. “And perhaps someone will take pity on me when they realize how much stupidity I have to deal with every day.”

Gendry chuckled in return, “I wasn’t like this until I started being in close contact with you, m’lady.” He poked his fork at her waving hand, “So, I think the blame for your _stupidity_ is only with you.”

“Shut up. And quit calling me that.” She retorted, looking away.

His eyebrows rose, “You should become more familiar with it as that is what everyone will be addressing you by at your feast.”

“Don’t remind me…” she sighed, “But I don’t like it when you call me that. Friends should call each other by their names.”

As far as she knew, the conversation was still playful but Gendry had suddenly become silent, staring down at his plate. She was worried he wasn’t feeling well because she couldn’t recall saying anything offensive. She cleared her throat and stood, saying, “I should let you rest. I’m sure you’re tire-.”

“No, I, umm, I’m perfectly well. Besides, you said you would tell me about your dream or dreams, whichever. You promised.” Gendry’s eyes were clear and determined.

A heavy sigh sank her back into the chair, “Do I have to tell you? I’m sure I won’t have this dream anymore…”

His fork and knife clanged as he crossed his arms, “You’ve been having this dream more than once? Is that why you haven’t been sleeping? Why didn’t -,”

“I _have_ been sleeping. But I have to be sitting by you in order to sleep without the dream waking me up – , ” She had interrupted his chiding but ended up saying more than she wanted already. And she knew by the look on Gendry’s face.

“How bad is this dream that you have to be with someone to avoid it? Arya, you better start talking.”

His tone reminded her of her older brothers when they scolded her for not bandaging the bloody wounds on her knees and elbows she got when she would fall. The cuts and bruises were so easy to forget when she began running after Bran or Rickon again. She supposed the dagger dream was similar. Only, instead of getting minor infections or scabs to replace her neglect, she was suffering from madness and exhaustion – more severe consequences than an occasional scar.       

She moaned loudly and slouched in her chair, “The dream was like when we were scouting and I got poisoned. Only instead of me getting hurt, you did.” She blew a piece of hair from her forehead and grumbled, “There. Are you happy, now?”

“Gee, Arya. That sure gives me a good idea of what that dream was about. You didn’t have to tell me about the exact amount of ants on the trees or the color of the bull shit on the ground.”

Her anger flared with his condescending sarcasm, “You know, I didn’t have to tell you any of that. And if I was explaining the bull shit on the ground, I would’ve mentioned you with your nose in it!”

Gendry chuckled, “I know, I know. But I want to help you. Just tell me your dream like you told all of your stories when I was sick.” She glanced at him nervously and she saw genuine encouragement from the depths of his eyes as he continued, “You’re a really good story teller.”

Her sigh released some of her insecurity, “I don’t know if I can.”  

“Would it help if I acted like I was sleeping?”

“No, stupid. I obviously know you’re awake.”

“What if I told you my dream first?” he paused and added an afterthought, “But if I do, you _have_ to tell me yours right after.”

Gendry was blushing slightly as he waited for her answer. There was no backing out of telling him if he told his first. Well, she could back out, but she could see Gendry playing dirty and telling her uncle about last night. And who knew what he would do then.

She simply nodded, bringing her legs up to crisscross on the chair beneath her. Gendry took a deep breath but Arya, noticing his nervous fingers fumbling with the hem of his blanket, interrupted, “Are you going to tell it like a story? I bet it won’t be better than mine.”

He grinned, “Shut up, you know I’m better at everything than you.” She rolled her eyes, glad to see him more relaxed. He cleared his throat and began speaking at a confident tone, “My dreams always started off with the sound of someone singing. It was the kind of singing you hear when the person singing it is trying to put you to sleep. Not the happy tunes you hear at taverns or feasts.” A smile played at his lips, “It was the sound of my mother singing. The same song from my memories of her, and then I can see her yellow hair, the only other thing I can remember about her. She used to sing that song to me when I was to go to sleep so she could leave to work at the alehouse.”

Arya studied how soft his expression was when he talked about his mother. Would she look like that if she talked about her mother?

He looked like he was trying to shake off the thought and recompose himself. He cleared his throat, “So, while she was singing everything was really foggy, and everything was white. Then I saw you through the mist.” The blush was returning to his cheeks as he glanced at her, “You were dancing.”

She thought she might laugh, but she didn’t. It seemed that Gendry thought she would do the same as he paused. She wanted him to keep going with his dream, so she asked, “What was I dancing like?”

Surprise replaced is uncertainty and then he pressed his lips together, “Ah. You looked a bit like a fawn learning to walk…”

She reached out and pinched his thigh through the blankets. Gendry sniggered, flinching away, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But I don’t know how to explain it. It was quite good for someone I’ve never seen dance before.”

“So your dream was of me dancing to your mother’s singing. The end?” She countered, feeling a little disappointed if that was the gist of it.

“No, there’s more.” He frowned, speaking softer now, “While my mother sang and you danced, I stood by trying to move. But I couldn’t get to you…” he trailed off. He stared forward, “I couldn’t move until my mother’s song changed.”

“How did it change?” she inquired curiously.

“The tone got darker. Almost scary. The wind got stronger and it was whipping around you like a wind storm. And you changed too. You stopped dancing and acted like you were afraid or something.”

She sat silently, unsure of what to say. _What does that mean? How is it connected to my dream?_

But Gendry continued in a low voice, “I tried to get to you again and I finally did. But when I reached out for you,” He turned his gaze to her, his eyebrows pulled down darkening his eyes, “My hand passed through you. Like I was a ghost.”

She opened her mouth to ask if that was the end, but he held up his hand indicating that he was going to finish, “But while I listened to my mother sing, _you_ reached up and grabbed my hand. You were telling me to wake up and then I saw your face.” She shifted in her chair meeting his pensive glare, waiting for him to finish his suspenseful last sentence. He was good at telling stories too, even if he wasn’t aware of it. He released his hold on her eyes, looking passed her, as he whispered, “Your eyes were white like the mist in my dream, and you were crying blood.”

 _Crying blood? Like her dream? Misty eyes? Like Jon and Sansa last night?_ Her body went cold and fear poked at her previously rebuilt wall of fortitude. Why did she feel scared? It wasn’t something that could hurt her.

Gendry must have read her discomfort because he was leaning toward her, saying her name. “Arya? What’s wrong?”

Her voice shook despite her effort to calm herself, “You said I was crying blood? And my eyes were misty?”

His forehead creased in astonishment, “Did that happen in your dream, too?”

She uncrossed her legs and sat forward, rubbing her face with her shaking hands. She sounded drained, “Maybe. I don’t know. At least the crying blood happened but the misty eyes were from another time.”

Gendry watched her, worried. His blue eyes were calming and gave her the chance to gather her thoughts.

“In my dream, I was walking in the forest with you and we came across the same Frey men. We killed them the same way the day I got poisoned, but the maester actually killed _you_. He stabbed you through the back into your heart.” She paused observing his expression widen in bewilderment, “I threw my own dagger to stick between his eyes… but he faded in a green mist like the color of the poisoned dagger’s stone.” She stopped talking to decide whether she should leave out the deep mourning she felt while she held him in her arms. Or whether she should tell Gendry how similar the situation was when he died at the bottom of the stairs.

“When did you see someone cry blood?” He asked tentatively.  

She squinted her eyes, “Well, I didn’t necessarily _see_ someone crying blood… but I was me in my dream and blood dripped from my face on to you. So, I am assuming I was crying blood. Unless I was actually hurt…” she whispered to herself, continuing her thought process, “but that couldn’t be, because I was actually crying. It had to have been tears…”

“Why were you crying?” Gendry asked, breaking her concentration.

She stared at him feeling blush rise to her cheeks. _I shouldn’t tell him I was crying because I was sad about his death. That would make him think I care about him. But do I care about him? Should I care about him? Gendry has been supportive all this time and he acts like he cares about me…_

Those blue eyes stayed inquisitively level, patiently waiting for her answer. She quickly looked away, his gaze too earnest. “I don’t know. But I remember not finding any blood from the maester’s dagger on you.”

Her quick change of subject seemed to distract him. He scratched at his beard, “I wonder why that is…”

“I don’t know,” she said again, chewing her lip. They were quiet, sitting and thinking together. There had to be a connection between their dreams because something so specific as crying blood and misty eyes couldn’t possibly be a coincidence. Her fingers fumbled at her hair mindlessly as she thought, and she realized how rugged she must look.

She snorted at the clump of mud she picked from her braid, “I suppose I should take a bath. If Freya saw me now she’d scrub me raw and then make my uncle drink the bath water as punishment for not making me a lady.” The image of the large, abrasive woman who acted a bit like Septa Mordane, stung at her mind. She hadn’t seen her since she came back and there was no doubt she would have words for her _behavior._

When she looked up from her tangled mane, Gendry was gazing out the window. He looked worried. The setting sun tossed colors on to his face, orange and yellow splashed, highlighting the creased skin around his eyes. It was as if someone rubbed the petals of a Goldenrod across his skin.  

“What’s wrong?” she asked, returning to the maintenance of a matted strand of hair.

Gendry was quiet for a moment until she looked up at him again. He almost whispered, “What if you have that dream again? What will you do?”

She was taken aback by his question. What would she do? Would she continue on like she had before, not sleeping, hallucinating, and eventually going mad again?

Gendry spoke without waiting, possibly sensing her discomfort, “You could sleep here since you can only sleep with someone nearby. I mean, if it bothers you again…” His face had turned bright red emphasizing the outward pretense of his proposal. She knew he only meant to make her comfortable and he wouldn’t try to take advantage of her. He _was_ a man and she a woman, but it was different because she was Arya and he was Gendry. “It would be like last night. The pillow would be between us and you wouldn’t have to worry -,”

She interrupted his awkward rambling, “Thanks for the offer. I really think I won’t have that nightmare anymore, though.” The sun was setting rapidly and her exhaustion was beginning to surface with darkness emerging. “Maybe we can check out the forge tomorrow,” a yawn interrupted her farewell.

“That sounds like a good plan. I’ve been itching to check on my supplies. Lord Tully asked for a list of materials for me to begin work on his order. He needs swords and arrow heads for his men -,” He stopped suddenly and shifted in his bed, “You ought to go to bed, I’ll put you to sleep right here if I keep yappin’ on about my smith orders.” He grinned at her and it seemed like a magnet. Just a moment before, she was ready to leave without a second thought. Now, thinking about leaving felt wrong. Sitting with him and talking and joking was something she missed. She didn’t want to say good bye.

She cleared her throat of the uncomfortable realization, “Right. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” Her legs completed the task she was reluctant of, as she stood. She took an unanticipated deep breath, as if preparing for an unbearable duty.

“Arya.” Gendry said.

Almost too willingly, she turned and replied, “Hmm?”

“Uh, remember, you aren’t alone.” Gendry’s skin turned bright red again. It had been redder in the last day than his original skin color. “I mean, your uncle is here a-and so am I, if you need anything.”

Gendry’s words encouraged a happy little flower to bloom in her chest. She didn’t know whether it was something to cherish or smother, but there was no stopping the smile that spread across her face. It was as if it had been waiting for a moment like this to spring to the surface. “Thanks, Gendry.”

She felt better about leaving now and it wasn’t like she was completely leaving. Her chamber was only a short walk away. They waved to each other and she left feeling lighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really one of the first chapters Gendry and Arya have a more relaxed conversation, in a more ordinary setting. Do you like the interaction between them or am I just completely off? I want them to be as true to their characters (mostly book) as possible and I love any feedback!


	29. Chapter 29

The sky was on the verge of completely swapping out the sun for the moon by the time she made it up to her room. Her whole body ached and she wanted nothing more than her bed. _I hope that dream is truly finished tormenting me._

Swinging the door open to her chambers triggered a sudden raucous. “M-m’lady! I have a bath prepared for you!” Cera had dropped the cast iron pot she heated the water in on the floor splashing what was left on to the stone.

“Stupid girl! Now you need to boil a whole new pot!” Freya snapped, her voice lashing at Arya with irritation. “Gods! And look what the cat dragged in!”

Freya stomped over to Arya dragging her to the tub and roughly began removing her clothing. The force of Freya’s violent tugging released the bandages on her arms and rubbed at her raw flesh. “Ouch! That _hurts!_ ” She finally managed to grind out, pushing from the large woman. “Don’t touch me if you’re going to undress me like a rabid animal!”

She picked at the remaining cotton realizing it was torn from a shirt; most likely Gendry’s. _Now I owe him a whole new wardrobe too._

“M’lady, let me see.” Freya’s voice became soft but her eyes were still lit with displeasure, her bushy dark eyebrows, severe. “Come now. I didn’t know you were injured. Give me your arm.” Freya’s expression left no room for argument as she pursed her lips at the scowl she received. She held her arms out indignantly, wanting to get the bath over with so she could sleep. A heavy sigh left Frey’s hefty chest as she tenderly examined the shallow and more profound scratches with hearty fingers. “Let us get you scrubbed down so you can sleep. Don’t worry, we’ll be sure the bags under your eyes don’t drown you.”

Freya was gentler now and Cera stood by gathering the layers of clothing as they were tossed to the floor. The bath water nearly seared the skin from her bones but once she was settled, all her remaining energy drained from her. She kept nodding off but was awoken to her hair being scrubbed and combed, scrubbed and combed, over and over until the mud turned the water murky. Soon, even the pain in her scalp couldn’t keep her awake anymore. Cera finished washing her skin, though she didn’t remember much of it. Even standing from the tub, being dried, and then dressed were lost memories. There was speaking, or rather barking, from Freya, and Cera’s feeble voice was too soft to reach her sleepy limbo.

Before the sleep became overwhelming, there was a hand on her face, maybe two, she couldn’t remember. And then a kind whisper, “Sleep, child.”

“No!” She sobbed into her hands. _No, you were supposed to be done. Gone. I don’t want to have this dream anymore._

Her fingers dug into the quilt that was tucked around her, tempted to rip it to shreds as frustration bit at her mind. She stared forward into the darkness, her face hot and fuming.

She threw the covers back and clambered from the soft, down mattress. The nightgown Freya stuck her in had scratchy frills all around her neck and wrists, and dainty lace draped as a layer over the cotton. A nauseating piece of clothing you would only find on a princess’ doll she received from the uncle who spoiled her rotten. Typical of Freya to put the most ridiculous gown on her when she was incapable of giving consent.

“For fucks sake, I can’t even sleep without someone taking advantage of me!” She grumbled, struggling to remove the creature of a dress that seemed to be swallowing her. It went directly from clinging to her skin to being stuffed behind the bookshelf with the cobwebs. She covered herself with a new cotton shirt and trousers, yanked stockings up to her knees, and angrily wrenched each boot on to her waiting feet.

Her foot met the door and it swung wide, crashing into the wall behind. The noise was thundering but she couldn’t care less. She stomped down the stairs and out into the night. By the looks of it, she had only been asleep for a few hours at most. Though, there was no one in sight as she began stalking to the horse barn, her body still seething, looking for escape. But as soon as she entered the horse barn, the memory of her horse high-tailing away into the storm struck her. She could take someone else’s horse but that would only cause complications come time she return from her ride.

Almost as soon as she entered the barn, she turned and left not knowing what to do with her exhaustion. She stood weighing her options, though there weren’t many. Her eyes stared at her tower grudgingly and then wandered toward the barracks. _Gendry did offer me his bed if I needed it…_

She shook her head, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. _I don’t need it._ But then shadows loomed from behind barrels and crates, and gardening hoes and posts conspired to create ghost-like figures. Her fingers grasped at the fabric of her pants in reflex. _No, this is not happening again._

She unclutched her pants and shakily walked in the direction of Gendry’s chamber. The shadows left her alone but she skipped every other step just in case. Everything felt wrong when she reached Gendry’s door; her hands shook, her eyes burned, and she was beginning to think she was forming a nervous tick in her neck. Half of the torches in the stairwell had burned out causing the darkness to seem suppressing. _I’m not scared, I just need sleep._ Paranoia finally pressured her to open the door, convinced someone was behind her.

She quickly scurried in and shut the door hastily. The Gendry-sized lump didn’t move as she stared uncomfortably at the bed. _I feel like a criminal. Why do I feel like a criminal? I shouldn’t, he invited me in here._ Her body remained frozen at the door as she chewed on her lip, contemplating dashing out and running back to her tower. She squeezed her eyes closed, taking a deep breath. Her footsteps were near silent as she crept to her side of the bed and glanced at Gendry. The pillow was as it was before, dividing his space and hers, indicating he really was expecting her to take up his offer. She rubbed at her face and felt a tiredness take hold.

Finally, taking a deep breath through her nose, she decided. She bent and removed her boots. The covers shuffled as she folded them back for her to slide into bed. Never had she moved so smoothly as she slipped beneath the blankets and tensely moved on to her side facing Gendry. He was already facing her, his face buried in the pillow under his head. But, it was too dark to see his face and she was too nervous to search very hard. The combination of fear from delusions and anxiety from uncertainty, put her body in a state of rigid discomfort. She knew she was trembling and no matter the deep breathing she attempted, it almost triggered her to feel faint from lack of oxygen. _Gods, I can’t keep this up._

She closed her eyes. _Go to sleep, it is the only remedy._ It was quiet in the room, though she wouldn’t have known of other sounds due to the blood roaring in her ears and the thumping of her head. She squeezed her eyes shut harder.

“Arya?” Gendry’s voice broke through her anxious efforts. Quickly opening her eyes, she watched his head slowly lift from his pillow.

She was quiet, unsure of what to say but he glanced around until she said clearly, “Yeah, it’s me.” The uneasy feeling of someone watching her from before returned when she felt his eyes wander to her general area.

That feeling dissipated as he sighed, “Good.” And gently laid back down in the ditch of his bed, causing him to disappear once again. But rustling of the bed material didn’t end when he settled into his spot, because to her surprise, he reached over and was fumbling over the pillow as if searching for something.

“You don’t have to hold my hand but I’ll leave it here if you want.” His words were slurred. He must be half asleep, unaware of what he was saying. His hand sat on top of their barrier pillow waiting patiently for her to take.

She thought she should reply but his words didn’t seem pressuring. Her eyes were finally adjusting to the darkness of the room, although Gendry was still barely visible with the light of the moon shining behind him. The darkness between them felt like a wall. It was like she wasn’t there with him at all, and it made her scared. _No, not scared. I’m a wolf._ Then, Gendry’s words squirmed from her memories, _“…the people who care about you will be there to help you when you’re afraid…”_  

She allowed a frustrated sigh to break through the darkened silence. In a rush of determination, she moved her hand to his in an instant, but stopped just above it, hovering. She bit her lip still aware of the strong pounding in her veins, now heightened by this decision. She didn’t know why it was so hard for her to take his hand now when she didn’t pause earlier that day, or yesterday, or even in the last several weeks. It must be because of his blatant invitation, pointing out that he knew she was reliant on his presence. She squeezed her eyes shut thinking hard about the consequences of her actions.

Then, her hand wasn’t alone in the space above the pillow as Gendry’s fingers closed around hers, bringing them down to the warm comfort of their pillow.

Her eyes had opened cautiously, now that she knew he had been watching her struggle and made the decision for her. His voice was soft and slightly muffled, “S’okay, Arya.” A warmth spread up her arm and to her mind, an attempt to convince her she was not alone, as his thumb stroked the top of her hand. She knew her hand must be clammy and unpleasant but he didn’t utter a word about it. Gendry’s efforts finally gave her the presence she needed to calm the disquiet ailing her. She didn’t feel alone and she wasn’t afraid.

His fingers were still as they rested on her hand. Assuming he was asleep again, she glanced at his face and listened to the heavy breathing her ears could now comprehend, since her blood ceased its pumping. His features weren’t visible, but she didn’t need to see them to remember how peaceful he is when he sleeps. After weeks of sitting beside his sleeping form, she could carve a perfect likeness of him in stone. Though, she has learned more about him awake than asleep. When she met him, Gendry was always quick to anger and was so single-minded, she worried he was bred from an actual bull. Now, instead of having unpredictable tendencies and making stupid, unyielding decisions, he was capable of controlling his impulsive actions and resorted to compromising instead.

She had seen those occurrences more than once now, and it made her aware of how her own development was inadequate. Now that she reflected on her quick temper, she realized the catalyst was others’ concern for her. Her original assumption for anger was people being annoying or stupid. But that was a childish reason.

The quiet image of Gendry was darkened from her vision as her eyelids closed. _I need to try harder to be more like him…_


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a new character introduced in this chapter along with a conversation with the Blackfish about Arya's duties as a Stark. Enjoy!

The next morning was similar to the previous as she slightly panicked at the unfamiliar surroundings, calmed as she realized where she was, and then gently slipped from Gendry’s warm bed. She didn’t know what would happen if he woke before her but she imagined it to be an uncomfortable situation.

                She may have avoided an awkward morning encounter with Gendry, but there was no beating a commoner to their early duties. They bustled about in their ordinary clothes, with their ordinary objectives for the day, only to live an ordinary life. The thought humbled her for a moment until she realized how annoying it was that she wasn’t born a lowly peasant. If she were, she wouldn’t be obligated to attend her stupid feast and entertain a bunch of useless guests, just to confront someone who tried killing her. _Why do I have to jump through so many hoops only to get justice?_

After returning to her chamber and swapping out a brown tunic for a slightly lighter colored one, and hastily re-braiding her hair, she returned to the bright sun. Not really having a real purpose or morning routine herself, she skipped breakfast in the Great Hall and requested a hot cider. She leaned into the steam, allowing the hot moisture to collect around her nose. The spices hugged and tantalized until her mouth watered impatiently at the thought of having to wait for it to cool before sipping it. Dull thuds and the muffled laughter of men practicing near the barracks drew her attention away from her hot beverage and sent her mindlessly in that direction like a moth to a flame. As she made her way to her current attraction, she spotted a small group of men in the corner of the yard, looking as if a fight would break out. Other men continued to spar far away from the mob, apparently uninterested.

                A harsh shout reached her curious ears, “Aron, you’re a dirty, lyin’ little prick and you fuckin’ know it!”

Another more smug voice chimed in, “I’m not going to say no to a whore who’s practically begging for it.”

                She quickened her pace, trying not to slosh her delicious smelling cider that she had yet to take a sip of. The group began to wane in size, as some of the men lost interest in the subject or realized who was involved with the commotion and trudged away. Some caught her eye, nodded their heads, and averted their eyes as if they were ashamed of what she was about to witness. The men parted to let her through, and she suddenly didn’t really understand why she was getting involved. Yelling this early in the morning was bound to put her in a fouler mood than what she already was. She paused, deciding that the loud idiots could resolve it on her own. But she wasn’t even given the chance to fully make her decision when she was bowled over by another body being shoved in her direction. The group of soldiers surrounding the confrontation were able to escape from harm by stepping aside. But in doing so, it made her the vulnerable person who caught the flying person’s momentum.

She landed on her backside, splashing the steaming liquid in her lap. The other, more fortunate person didn’t even fall, glancing back at whoever he rammed into.

                She hissed at the searing pain in her thighs and shouted, “What in seven hells?!”

                The bastard who stood above her sneered and replied loudly, “Oh, Lady Arya! You’re all wet!”

                Her face heated to match the burn on her legs, anger scorching through her veins. All at once, every single man moved to aid their lady but she didn’t want any of it, slapping their hands away. “Don’t fucking touch me!” She clambered to her feet, advancing on the man who used her as a human wall, and let her fury go on his stupid, pretty smile. “Are you the one called Aron? If so, go fuck yourself.” She didn’t pause to catch his reaction, stomping passed to the one she assumed caused Aron to knock her over. There was no missing the absolute horror on the man’s face – a much more satisfying expression compared to Aron’s infuriating smirk. He was a broad looking fellow, he reminded her of her old friend, Hot Pie but with more brawn. She could practically see the tail between his legs, like a dog in the presence of a wolf.

                She pointed her tin cup at his face, not afraid to get close enough to smell the stale wine on his tongue, and growled, “And you, what’s your name?” She gave him just enough time to open his trembling mouth before barking, “Doesn’t matter! You can go fuck yourself too!” She turned abruptly enough to toss droplets of cider on the leather jerkins of the closer men, who flinched away. She yelled, “In fact, all of you can go f-,”

                “Lady Arya!” someone bellowed, piercing even her loudest curses. All the men straightened immediately, like a whip was cracked threateningly. She snapped her head in the direction of her uncle, determined not to shy away. All he needed was to make a quick jutting motion with his chin for her to throw her mug angrily and follow after him. Though, she didn’t expect him to turn to the men with one last threat, “You’re all lucky Lady Arya is not allowed to practice in the yard right now. I’m not sure I could stop her from hurting you.” She didn’t look back as she didn’t want the small, triumphant smile to make her less intimidating. Lord Tully took her arm in his before turning and adding, “Make yourself busy, boys.”

                Pitiful shuffling sounded at their departure and the echo of clanging metal continued as Brynden led her towards the keep. Her uncle had never brought her to the triangular structure before, always resorting to speaking with her or taking care of his lordly duties in the Great Hall. It made her uneasy.

                “So what happened with those fools today? They are always bickering about something petty.” He paused and narrowed his eyes, looking up at the keep, “That Aron boy always seems to be involved.”

                He glanced down at her waiting for a reply as he held the door for her to enter. Anger still sat bitterly on her tongue as she said, “The big one – I didn’t catch his name – was complaining about some woman that the bastard, I assume, had relations with. Which led to Aron being shoved into me, knocking me over, to have my lovely, _hot_ , cider being spilled in my damn lap.” She gestured to her damp pants and received a surprised grunt from Lord Tully, like he had just noticed.

                He stopped them from climbing anymore steps with a tug of his arm, “Are you burned? Should we see the maester?”

                “The maester can’t do much more than cold water could.” She scoffed, picking at her clinging trousers.

                “If my lady insists.” His constant use of “ _lady_ ” was beginning to rekindle the feeling that he was hinting at something she didn’t understand yet, and it made her irritated. They continued up the stairs and the Blackfish spoke with a suspicious lilt that made her glare, “I’m glad to have you here at Riverrun, my lady. Those boys need someone to whip them into shape. And I think a woman fills that position well.” He winked at her through a bushy eyebrow. They reached the top of the staircase where a door, set with three panes of clear glass, stood closed. The sunlight filtering through the glass seemed brighter than the light outside, completely unobstructed by even a cloud in the sky. He continued, “They don’t want to listen to an old senile man. They want someone young and strong and honorable.” She dropped her gaze at the word “honorable” and he seemed to notice. “I’m not saying you aren’t honorable, but your father held that above everything else.” His strong fingers closed around her small, weak ones. “And I’m not saying to give up your personality, because I think you have _some_ redeeming qualities…” he chuckled, brushing her chin enough to tilt her face up at him. “Do you think your father enjoyed housing and pleasing high lords and ladies? You knew your father better than I, and I could even see how easy he was to impatience. I can’t imagine the restraint he must have had as the King’s Hand.”

                She didn’t know, nor like where her uncle was taking this conversation. All this talk of her father’s reputable tendencies as a lord was pulling memories of him to the surface, stretched and thin, only reminding her of his smiles and kind words. She never saw him get short with noblemen or their insufferable ladies. Occasionally, he would become firm with her or her siblings for bickering too much at the table during supper, or shooting their bows in the Godswood. But she never saw lecturing directed at King Robert or Queen Cersei, or any of their attendees when they were subjected to the notorious toxicity of Kings’ Landing. Perhaps she was too busy chasing cats to notice.

                “You have the experience of a distinguished highborn that many people are expecting to see when they come for your feast.” He held up his hand to stop her defiant comments and rose his eyebrows sternly. His voice was gruff, “I know you are young but there are duties tied to your name, Lady Arya. If you wish to be Arya of House Stark, you need to learn the importance of respect and create the same influence your father had.” He held her shoulders now as if she would run away. _I told myself that I would not run, but this is becoming unbearable._ She didn’t want to hear about her father or how she was expected to _do_ anything. This wasn’t what she wanted when she came to Westeros and she certainly thought the man who refused to marry in order to become a real fighter would understand the most.

                The quiet was hard not to break with the mean words her mind was building from the bitter annoyance and sadness he was stirring in her. Before she could grind out a few of them, her Uncle Brynden spoke, sadness draping over her like a wet cloak, “I understand how hard this is for you, Arya. I see a reflection of myself when I see your true nature being shadowed by the pressure of a highborn status. I don’t want you to lose your passion for fighting or your need for adventure. But, we both know the Tully and Stark names are worth a few hours of charming smiles, despite our instinct to not waste time on silly social courtesies.” He eyed her, a transparent pool of blue water. He really did hate it as much as her. “Believe me, you will regret not making an easy acquaintance because of pure ignorance that your fighting abilities alone, will keep your family safe. You and I know this well.”

                The anger she held leaked out of her like water through the fingers of a cupped hand, and though pebbles remained, they became dry and raw with sadness; their watery luster gone. As much as she didn’t want to agree with her uncle and be obligated to follow his agenda of making her a proper lady, there was a sense of understanding. She trusted her uncle to not revoke fighting all together or to take her skills for granted and force her to sit uselessly aside like a proper little lady. She took a deep, somber breath, ready to make the compromise she was sure Lord Tully had also relented to not long ago. Meeting his eyes encouraged a quick, but purposeful nod as she said, “I understand, Lord Tully.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aron is such a dick, I can't wait to write more about him (hehe). And poor old Brynden. He hates being a highborn as much as Arya. I love them so much. <3
> 
> What did you think? Tell me in the comments! I've been really motivated lately, so keep me going!!


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